A Grand Father

by Joy Jones
How awesome it is that you have gotten to be around for eight decades plus some change! I cannot imagine what it must be like for you to have lived to see so very many changes in the world, especially how greatly things have changed for Black people in the south. Surely things still need to improve, but I know just how vastly things have changed during your years.

I recall the first summer I came to stay with you and Mama Sarah. I was in third grade. It never seemed like work to me-- scratching your dandruff, running your bath water and shelling peas and beans. I remember shelling peas alongside Mama Sarah in those white plastic bowls and wanting nothing more than to fill my bowls as effortlessly as she did. I learned to iron on an ironing board in your dining room when Mama Sarah would have me ironing your handkerchiefs. I was so proud to iron those perfect squares. What a gift it was for Mama Sarah to teach how to work without it ever feeling like work!

You would come in late at night on the bus from Monsanto. I actually remember riding with Mama Sarah a time or two to meet the bus in town. “Town” was the biggest place there was, it seemed. I never knew what you did for a living as a kid. I was surprised when I got older to learn that you were a janitor at Monsanto. You just were always dressed so nicely and smelled so good that I was surprised. That’s a lesson there-to always look your best; no matter what you are doing. I always admired your service plaques in the den that marked your outstanding service there. I remember Mama Sarah coming in early in the morning dressed in her nurse whites early in the morning. God knows I didn’t realize she was working the “graveyard shift”. I thought she was the HNIC (head nurse in charge). I didn’t know until years later that she was a nurse’s aide. I never heard either of you complain about being tired, nor did I ever hear of your being disappointed in your work, your co-workers or your employers. From both of you I learned that the honor of a job is not so much in the title but in the approach to the work that you do. You bring honor to whatever it is that you do. You both did that.

I loved and looked forward to everything I got to do with you and Mama Sarah. Life itself was entertainment and I never even knew the word “bored” with you. I can still taste the batter in the bowls from the cakes Mama Sarah would bake from scratch. I can see the sausage and the fresh peas and greens on the table that were served on those dark green plates. Food was always set banquet style “like rich folks”. And the meals…oh the meals! Lunch and supper were such hearty meals…all those vegetables cooked to perfection. Can a girl get some butter beans or peas? I was fascinated by the fires you would start to burn the trash out back. You all really were resourceful. There wasn’t a whole lot to burn. And dog food? Was there ever any bought? I remember your big, black dog, “Bear.” Bear had to love all those grits and “leftovers.”

The loaded pear tree and what seemed to be miles and miles of rows of corn, peas, sugar cane, tomatoes and squash made your back yard seem to go on forever. I even remember the mule plowing your garden and hanging the clothes on the clothesline.

So much has changed there now, but I have a wealth of memories there. I got my first letter in the mail at Route 6, Box 37. Now your address is Werlin Street and it is paved. Back then, Werlin Street was solid red clay. I remember when you still had a front porch with that green gliding sofa. There was nothing but corn planted in front of your house as far as the eye could see. We used to spend every Christmas there and open the gifts on Christmas Eve. There were no streetlights and if you opened your eyes at night it was black as pitch-even with your eyes open. I could have sworn I heard Santa Claus when I was asleep back in Doreen’s bedroom the year I got my Christie doll with the green dress and the hair that “grew.”

I actually got to play at the old schoolhouse my Mama and her siblings attended. I remember nearly having my jaw lock from eating a persimmon off one of the trees on the way to the schoolhouse one day. Imagine how many generations old those persimmons were! I learned to make a rock skip water at O’Bannon’s Creek one summer when Ray (Uncle Richard) took Rhonda and me swimming there. They said there were moccasins there.

One day when you had the Falcon station wagon, you took Rhonda and me into town. I believe we went to Bill’s Dollar Store. You parked it, left Rhonda and me inside sitting in the backseat and didn't let up the parking brake. Well, the car started rolling backward and someone jumped in and pulled up the parking brake. Thanks for not locking the door. We might have rolled back to Pea Ridge! I can still smell the scent of your yellow Chevy with the black interior. You all would let me blow the horn around the curve up by your house to signal the other drivers. At night you would flash the bright lights. And of course there were the banana moon pies and bowls of vanilla ice cream. You loved yourself some ice cream!

Since I’ve grown older, I’ve discovered that you are a great storyteller with the most awesome memory. I'll never forget you talking about how you and Mama Sarah met over a 15 cent Pepsi at a turpentine camp, that you were good at pitching a baseball, how you were the tallest boy at school and when basketball came about the teacher had you chop down the tree to make the pole to put up the goal.

I was both saddened and enraged by the story that you shared about the time you were going courting with your brother and the white men wet you up in your new clothes when you stopped to use the bathroom at the gas station. What amazed me the most is how you told me that story without the slightest hint of anger or animosity at their racist brutality toward you. That displays such forgiveness and resilience. It is so easy for people my age and younger to say what they would or wouldn’t have been able to do as far as suffering the insults and slights by white folks back then. I am strengthened by the fact that in spite of how hard times were for black people; you kept on keeping on. Not only that, you put your family before pride and you kept your back straight and have always had such dignity. Thank you for being such a great example of what it takes to endure and overcome. It would have been so easy to quit, but you held your family intact.

I have always admired you and Mama Sarah's marriage. It was a great partnership and a model for us all. What I witnessed is that she really served you at home. You had to feel like the “king of the castle.” I saw nothing but love and respect there. And you really seemed to accept that the church was her domain. She was your spiritual shepherd. You all were way before your time in that regard. I am glad that you saw that was her gift and calling and that you respected and supported her in that. As much as I loved spending the summers with you, I would also look forward to the time I would live, as you always made sure I had something in my pocket on the way home. I can remember to this day being in the back of my Mama’s blue Volkswagen waving goodbye to you and Mama Sarah as you stood in your driveway as you both stood there and waved back.

What makes me happiest is that my children, your great grandchildren, have gotten a chance to spend so much quality time with you. They also have memories of your touch and words and smell that they will be able to share those memories with their children. You will live forever in us all.

Joy Jones is the first born grandchild of Robert and Sarah Paul. She is Brunette's only child. Joy is a University of Pittsburgh graduate and is the editor of publications for Tupperware Brands Corporation. She developed this blog.