We went to see our grandparents every month. Grandpa would take us to GoodyearHeights Metro Park after lunch. Women washed dishes while children and men walked to the pond and woods.
In winter we went sledding. There’s a little but steep hill close to their house, and a very big hill on the other side of the park. The little hill has the extra thrill of trees in the wrong places. The big hill has a bump which sends whole toboggans of adults airborne. That hill is also great for kites in summer. Kites soared from a standstill. They flew so strong, I worried I’d be dragged to the sun and die like Icarus.
One day my siblings ran down the steep little hill to the pond, and Grandpa and I stayed behind. He really didn’t say much. Well, to be perfectly honest, he never did, but what he did say was in a soft Tennessee accent that makes me feel safe, loved, and happy.
On that last day at the park I just held his hand and absorbed our alone-time together. I don’t know how I knew it was our last day, I just did, and I relished it. He lived a long time after that, he just didn't walk to the park. He drove us to the big hill to fly kites.
I miss Grandpa. Happy birthday! Happy birthday Sue! And Dad and Tami, and coming up Bill, ML, and Gail... plus my grandnieces and whoever else I might be forgetting. Oh yeah, Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Joyous Solstice too!
|The old metal bridge is the same as when I was a kid|
|Outhouse -- a very memorable part of camping!|