Believing Stories

Willie, John, Maxine, Claude, and Gordon, around 1936

Many years ago, I was looking through Grandma’s scrapbooks and found a ticket stub. When I asked her about it, she told me about a time in grade school when a pilot came to the school and gave the students rides for a dollar each.

Mom mentioned that story to Grandma’s brother. He said that she must have imagined it, attributing it to the early effects of dementia.

When preparing for Grandma’s 90th birthday party, Mom solicited stories about her from friends and family. Her childhood friend, Cleo, sent an email with a story about riding in an airplane when they were in grade school! 

Hand Me Down My Walking Cane

When Grandma was still living at home, I found the Kelly Harrell album, Hand Me Down My Walking Cane buried in a cabinet. It was broken into two pieces, but of course Grandma had kept it anyway. She said it had been her favorite song when she was younger. I was curious to hear the song and figured it had been a long time since she'd been able to hear it, so when I went into town, I used the free wi-fi at Taco Box to download it. I laughed imagining my sweet Grandma singing this song.

As she walked back to the house, Jewell heard singing coming from the barn. She found Daddy on his stool in front of Butter. “Hand me down my walking cane . . .” he crooned.

“Oh hand me down my walking cane,” Jewell answered as she walked toward him.

“I’m gonna leave on that midnight train.”

 “’Cause all my sins are taken away,” they sang in unison.

“Don’t let your Momma hear you singing that song,” Daddy whispered. He looked over his shoulder as though he expected to see her come through the door.  “If she hears you singing that you ‘got drunk and got in jail’, we’ll both be in trouble.” He smiled and hummed as he continued milking.

--Excerpt From Maxine

Have you heard this one?

My Great-Grandma was known for telling stories more than once. It became a joke when she began the telling to hold up fingers representing the number of times you’d heard it before. Now, as I’m trying to decipher notes scribbled in pencil on the back of an envelope fifty years ago, I wish I had paid more attention to those stories.

Unpacking

The Writing Home Project really began when Mom and I met at Grandma’s house and I started asking questions about our family’s history. I’d heard stories about her childhood and my mom’s childhood, but I was curious about generations further back. Grandma brought out two small suitcases that had belonged to her mother. The cases were filled with letters, maps, recipes, genealogical records, and even a lock of hair. I was fascinated; Mom less so. I sifted through the contents, asking Grandma what she could remember about each person, place, and thing. When I packed up the suitcases later in the night, she said, “Take those with you if you think you’ll ever do anything with them.” It’s been over a decade, but I’m finally doing something with them.