A favorite memory
Any memory containing my grandparents is a happy and/or favorite memory.
My grandmothers taught me how to cook and bake before my parents took over. The smell of fresh bread out of the oven always brings me back to them, same for warm berry pies.
They played cards with me for countless hours, teaching me games I now teach kids I know.
They taught me to speak my mind, that a woman’s place wasn’t always in the kitchen. But for the life of me, neither of them ever managed to teach me knitting correctly! I just can’t get it right!
My grandfather on my mother’s side, I have lesser memories of him since he died when I was nine. But my fonder memories are with him; cuddling against his big belly to watch wrestling on TV, listening to him play harmonica, or watching him cooking us French fries with a teal and white polka-dotted apron.
My grandfather on my father’s side was my rock. Calm and steady against anything, sensitive and caring. I loved that I was his only granddaughter for five years. I got him all to myself, his strong hand holding mine. I just remember him sitting in the den, surrounded by his family, or singing proudly Oh, Holy Night in church at Christmas – the only reason I went to church.
What is your fondest memory?