07.03.10
Missing Old Times
I talked to my Grandmother yesterday. She made me get a little nostalgic.
“I wish all of us could be together this holiday,” she said softly.
The Fourth of July used to always be a time when my family would gather in Georgia at my grandparents’ house, which was really almost like everybody’s house. There, my brothers, Harold and Vincent, would help our Uncle Charles barbecue ribs on the grill while the rest of us, the women at least, got everything else together from the potato salad to my Grandmother’s famous Brunswick stew, a hearty, meaty stew that was always part of our family tradition.
On those days, excitement drifted in the air from dawn to dusk. Vincent still remembers hanging out in my grandparents’ long, windy driveway, playing with his wooden planes (he loved those as a child), while waiting for the rest of our extended family to show up. Harold remembers playing cards. My sister, Kristi, was usually somewhere quietly hiding under my mother’s skirt (she was shy as a child).
I remember how good the food was. The whole day was magical. Never mind the scorching heat and humidity. As kids, we were having too much fun to notice. Sometimes we would walk around the neighborhood after we ate, clothed in our t-shirts and shorts despite the fact our great-grandmother, Mama Willoughby, frowned on such scant attire.
“Look at those naked children,” she once said.
Those were the days.
I wish I could take my Grandmother a bowl of Brunswick stew this Fourth as a happy reminder of days gone by. Maybe one day… of course, I’ll have to figure out how to make it first.
What are your favorite memories of the Fourth of July?
