|Honeysuckle by Theophilos|
My dad visited his mom, dad, and brother, Allen nearly every day. Often one or two of us kids would go along. After supper we usually would find Grandma, still wearing her apron over her housedress, sitting out on the front porch, enjoying the early evening. We would plop down beside her on the old wooden swing. A well-worn blanket thrown over it kept our bare legs from sticking to the high-gloss paint in the heat.
Time seemed to stand still during those moments on Grandma Flasher’s porch. I never remember getting bored or antsy, which, when I think about it, is a bit of a miracle. We just pumped our legs back and forth in rhythm with the swing and listened to the adults chatting about seemingly nothing in particular, but connecting in a way that spoke volumes.
I would love to hear your childhood memory. Won't you share it?
©2012 Pamela D. Williams