Memories to me have been snapshots my mind has taken during years of family rearing. Some come back when triggered by a word or phrase but some stay in my head as a front-page to a file folder containing life moments for each of my children and grandchildren.
For D.J. it is the day he entered first grade. I took him to school and he walked away from me , head up and eager to tackle the world. He was tucking his shirttail in as he broadened his shoulders. I turned away and cried.
For Duion it was an evening when I walked down the steps and saw him looking at a piece of electrical equipment he had taken apart. I walked into the laundry room and cried.
For Geralyn, it was the evening before she was to start first grade. She had been so excited to start with her friends but there she sat on the top bunk. With her hair in rollers, she sobbed and told me she didn’t want to go. After she fell asleep I cried.
With Duyn it was his three-year-old bravery over the weekly allergy shot ordeal. He became the darling of the nurses when he said “ho ho ho” instead of “ouch” when he received an injection. I cried later.
Amber did not know how to silence grown-ups who were in a heated discussion so she said, “Be happy to me.”
Tasha helping me slice and put away the Christmas ham we received from The Main Exchange will always be a nibbling memory.
Jaime swinging her small purse at Disneyworld will never stray far from my mind.
Tristan spoke very sincere words to Duyn when he watched his Uncle fold up sheets from his couch bed. “You did a very good job.”
Nick came home from preschool and handed me a small rubber lizard he had found and said, “I’m giving you this because I love you and I like you.”
I will always recall Sky painting his panda and asking me, “You mean like this?”
Jennifer’s moment was when she was so excited about making a perfect pot of sticky rice.
Two-year-old Kelsey was left in the back seat of the car with me while Duion and Laurie went in a Louisville Kroger for a quick pick up for dinner. They were concerned that she would not stay with me. I was too when she turned to me and drawing out her words asked, “Where’s Papa?”
Karen stands out for what she left behind. After several shootouts with Kelsey, they went back home. She dropped her six-shooter by the basement door of the Illinois Avenue house. It remained there for years until I left. Even though she grew up, every time I looked down and saw it I remembered the days when she was a strong cowgirl.