Others may think quilts are not extremely fascinating because to them, they are nothing more than blocks sewn into pieces of woven material. But it is the memories stitched into each section that gave our particular quilt the significant ability to fill my family and I bodies with tenderness and warmth. My family had trouble before the quilt came into our presence. The Slaughter Clan didn’t get along much and we bickered like cats and dogs. Even once, my Grandpa Sam threatened to throw a beer bottle at my Uncle William's, head for being late to our family reunion in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The soothing support of this blue, purple, and white quilt gave us endless reassurement that wherever we went we knew that God was with us. Though God was
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Seeing that, my mother Kisha, was only 15 when the quilt first appeared in her life. She wasn’t very fond of it. Countless numbers of times, she would try to prove my grandmother wrong, and fault her by “caring more about that cheap rag” than her. In fact, she was jealous because by her being the spoiled child she felt the quilt was another baby in the family the way my grandmother put time, and effort into the quilt. But, within only a few months of being 17, my mom too began to notice the immense possession that the god given gift was to her. She finally understood what a friend the quilt was to have. Times when she would struggle with bills, relationship problems, and school, she would rely on the quilt for comfort and understanding. Thus, the name Blanky was substituted for the “ratty old blanket” that outsiders may have seen physically about Blanky. Inside of Blanky lived virtue, compassion, and emotion. The name Blanky meant affection and relief to my mother. Whenever this loveable cloth was held it reminded my mother of the cuddling feeling she use to get when she laid against my Grandma Barbara’s chest while Flu Season cursed her with a fever. There were times when my mother would even cuddle with Blanky itself until she was even able to think or breathe again. Times has been just that hard, but as a best friend Banky remained
Seeing that, my mother Kisha, was only 15 when the quilt first appeared in her life. She wasn’t very fond of it. Countless numbers of times, she would try to prove my grandmother wrong, and fault her by “caring more about that cheap rag” than her. In fact, she was jealous because by her being the spoiled child she felt the quilt was another baby in the family the way my grandmother put time, and effort into the quilt. But, within only a few months of being 17, my mom too began to notice the immense possession that the god given gift was to her. She finally understood what a friend the quilt was to have. Times when she would struggle with bills, relationship problems, and school, she would rely on the quilt for comfort and understanding. Thus, the name Blanky was substituted for the “ratty old blanket” that outsiders may have seen physically about Blanky. Inside of Blanky lived virtue, compassion, and emotion. The name Blanky meant affection and relief to my mother. Whenever this loveable cloth was held it reminded my mother of the cuddling feeling she use to get when she laid against my Grandma Barbara’s chest while Flu Season cursed her with a fever. There were times when my mother would even cuddle with Blanky itself until she was even able to think or breathe again. Times has been just that hard, but as a best friend Banky remained