2) I’ve had the experience of holding a Horny Toad in my hand. No, it’s not what you’re thinking. My grandfather’s house, in which my mother and I lived after she and my father divorced, had a huge back yard. Contained in this backyard was quite the population of Texas Horned Frogs (which happens to be the Texas Christian University mascot). I’m not sure I would hold a frog today, but I held many a Horny Toad during my preschool years. And while I’m afraid of spiders and wasps, I’m not afraid of the similarly looking Granddaddy Long Legs and Dirt Dobbers. Dirt Dobbers are black and don’t have stingers and Granddaddy Long Legs don’t bite. I also know that if you pull most of the legs off a Granddaddy Long Leg it will walk in a circle. (I’m not particularly proud that I know that, but PETA wasn’t really active in my hometown.)
3) I’ve eaten warm watermelon while sitting in the patch in which the watermelon was grown. I could have never dreamed of a day when there would be watermelons without seeds or that they could cost more than five whole dollars.
4) I have an Uncle Buck (he owned the watermelon match). His real name isn’t Buck and he is missing a finger and has always had false teeth and somehow all of that seemed quite normal to me as child. I had an Uncle Wood and that was his real name. He could wiggle his ears. You don’t see that much anymore, OK not at all. I called my grandfather “Granddaddy” and he called me “Baby Doll” until the day, when I was twenty-nine, that he died.
5) I had a Nannie. No, not the type of Nannie my professional friends hire to help with their childcare. She was my great-grandmother who stepped in to love and care for me and fill an emptiness that was left when my grandmother (her daughter) died the year I turned four. Actually, we called her “Big Nannie.” There was another “Nannie” in the family (it was Uncle Buck’s wife, Minnie) and because Big Nannie was older, she got stuck with the “Big” designation. She always bought me underwear for Christmas and I never minded. I can still see her in the backyard of her house ringing the neck of a real live (but soon to be not) chicken. She would then pluck all the feathers and fry it in a cast iron skillet for Sunday dinner.
PREVIOUS PAGE
