Momma Narrative

Mama drove her blue Valiant, rattle-trap car up the U-shaped driveway. There were roses in the arc, red, coral and pink. Roses, not tight-budded roses, but rather old fashioned, having loose and simple petals, resembling Dogwood flowers more than the orderly roses in my mother’s garden. At the top of the drive, stood my Grandparent’s cinderblock, two-story home, our vacation destination. Momma kept her car running, as I along with my two older brothers, Randy and Roger disembarked; suit cases and garbage bag incased pillows in our hands. With a kiss for each of us and hello/goodbye wave to Grandpa, Momma drove away. Our Grandmother always greeted us from her favorite chair, just to our left as we stepped into the cool home. Dumping our belongings at our feet, we stood in line – oldest to youngest. Randy, the oldest, would plop his long, lanky body onto Grandma’s lap, wrap his arms around her neck and kiss her powdery cheek with a loud wet “smack.” This was how it was done and soon Roger and I took our turns on her ample lap. …show more content…
we didn’t even have to wash-up first. Grandma knew a little dirt wouldn’t hurt us and we certainly found a multitude of circumstances in which to get dirty. We would gear up with butterfly nets, buckets for frogs and crawfish and long cane poles for fishing in some quiet pond. Once, we caught a three-legged bull frog which we named Firetruck, because he didn’t croak, he wailed like an emergency siren. We lugged buckets of tadpoles and observed with fascination when legs sprouted and tails disappeared. Many times, Grandma joined us, especially for an early morning fishing trip. She loved to fish, however her fear of water meant she always fished from the shore. She had reason to be afraid, both of her Grandfathers had died in the Wabash River. Our fishing excursions with her were quiet, which may be why we always caught more fish when she was with