Thursday, December 9, 2010

Memories of a 5 year old!

It is a funny thing the way we remember things. It can be a picture, a conversation, a smell, a toy, just about anything. This is a picture of the car we had when I was 5. There was a big controversy in the family when got this car, so it has always stood out as a point of time in my life. Trips that we took to distant relatives homes, vacations, going to weddings, and funerals. 
Seeing this picture brought memories of my Dad's Grandma Nora cascading out. Oh the visits we made to her in her little house in that little town. She was the sweetest lady, and how much my Dad adored her! Very crafty, making little monkey dolls out of socks that looked real to this 5 year old. I wanted one so badly, that she gave me one to take back home. Joy, joy, joy!!!! I loved her so much.
It was this same car that took us to something new, a funeral. Grandma Nora's Funeral. I asked my Dad, "why won't Grandma talk to me?" Dad explained me the best he could why she wouldn't talk to me. Of course this made me so sad that I cried. After the services we went to Grandma's house to eat. I loved eating at Grandma's house, but she wasn't there. There was a bunch of people there that I did not know. There was 2 old women fighting over one of Grandmas special plates. Grandma's house was not the way it was supposed to be! That was in 1959, and I have never been to that house again. Sometimes it is tough being 5.


Mango

3 comments:

el chupacabra said...

At my grandmother's funeral my grandad leaned over bawling into the casket- he was absolutely beside himself. When he stood up one of his tears had fallen on her face and was rolling down like it was coming from her eye. It freaked me out and I shouted,"Look-she's ALIVE! She's crying!"

I don't thick I got a beating, but I did not endear myself to either mom or dad with that one.

A true story.

The End

AnObiter said...

Oh, my, Chup'y.......! =)

Mango, it's amazing what can etch itself into our memories, isn't it? Two nights ago I opened my Grandma's sewing basket to fix my son's stuffed monkey (the irony, huh?) and upon seeing her things....her scissors, spools of thread...the pin cushions....I burst into full blown sobs. My three bewildered children just stared silently. I could only explain (once I could [hiccup] talk again) that sometimes you just really, really still miss someone who's died.

Karen Mangus said...

That is part of life, but being 5 and remembering is a gift or curse, depending how tramatic it is. Nice to read about your past.
Love, your wife and best friend