sm
member
March 11, 1960.
47 years ago today my maternal grandma passed away.
I was born in April of 1955. I am the only sibling to ever know a grandparent, this maternal grandma.
Maternal Grandma bought a High Standard Sentinel .22 nine shot revolver for “this grandchild, if and when they ever show up!”
I arrived earlier than expected, small, not weighing a whole lot, resembling a “skint” squirrel, and grandma stuck MY pistol in my dresser drawer – which was my crib- as soon as I was brought home.
Grandma along with mentors and elders said, that was sight to see, me and my pistol, and I had a grin. Not sure what a pistol was yet, but I seemed to like it, and knew it was something special.
For a bit there I liked the leather holster more it is said, chewing on it seemed to ease teething pains.
Age three comes around and Grandma wanted shooting lessons. Me being a Southern Boy and all, assisted with giving his grandma shooting lessons of course, and she was a great student. *grin*.
Grandma could shoot! Handguns, rifles, shotguns, did not matter, she could flat shoot. Country gal and the story go this bear was getting into the blackberries, and getting too close to her kids – my mom, aunt and uncle.
She warned that bear – once, and when the bear did not back off – she shot it dead. Grandpa comes in from town to find this bear that had been dragged to the back porch and “get that thing off my porch, I am busy cooking bear meat, fixing berries and get out of my kitchen”.
Uncle said bear meat and blackberries make a nice supper…
Grandma and others were active with Freedom and Rights. Letters were written in her beautiful handwriting, or typed on a manual typewriter. I “helped”. Not sure what all I wrote with my scribbling’ still at the time I was “writing” letters and “banging away” on a typewriter something in regard to Politics, Wildlife legislation and whatever else.
Yuck! Stamps being licked tasted terrible. Even using a damp sponge, I managed to get that yucky taste in my mouth from off my fingers.
Grandma knew fried apples pies helps to alleviate that yucky taste a grandson gets from “yucky stamps”.
Seems I was talented. I could get sticky from stamps, fried pies, and anything else my little fingers got into, all over everything, including places I could not reach.
Singer Sewing Machines are another thing it seems I was “talented” with, and holds special memories of grandma.
I liked that pedal, and according to some, I still hold the Worlds Record for messing up a bobbin and getting one out of whack.
I was fast too! I could mess up the sewing machine, and take all those drawers out before grandma could get down the hall in that small house I was raised in, and get in a corner and hide in nothing flat!
Grandma had this feeling this grandkid [me] was going to be “different”. Now she had other grandkids by the time I was born from my uncle and aunt, I am the only one she bought a gun for, and taught to shoot, and other activities in regard to guns and Freedom.
She read to me Robert Ruark. I even had a stuffed quail she made me from scraps. Me sitting in her lap, my stuffed quail and would go from being all bright eyed and excited to sleepy little fellow being tucked into bed.
My uncle lived in town; my aunt lived out of state. So from time to time my grandma would go see my aunt out of state, and spoil them grandkids.
I remember the day the black phone rang at the house and it sounded “bad”. Ice storm had hit in that other state and grandma had fallen on the cement driveway just out the back door. They said she died when her head hit the pavement outside, it was quick, and she did not suffer.
She was brought back to my state to be buried and my aunt, her husband and all the family was here. For the funeral, in my little suit coat pocket, I had put some .22 ctgs. I got my Uncle and other Mentors & Elders to bend down and tell him what I wanted to do. Just they and I peering in the casket and I put some .22 ctgs in a pocket of the outfit grandma was buried in.
Nobody but us ever knew this, until now. I…I had to do this for grandma.
I had “outgrown” my little stuffed quail, and …it too went into the casket. Mentors told the funeral folks and it was made quite clear that little stuffed quail was going to stay in that casket.
Today as I have over the years, I went to see Grandma today. My uncle is buried near her, and in the same cemetery are other Mentors and Elders.
I read a bit from Ruark to everyone, standing next to Grandma’s grave.
Thanks Mentors & Elders!
Thanks Grandma!!
Young ‘un
47 years ago today my maternal grandma passed away.
I was born in April of 1955. I am the only sibling to ever know a grandparent, this maternal grandma.
Maternal Grandma bought a High Standard Sentinel .22 nine shot revolver for “this grandchild, if and when they ever show up!”
I arrived earlier than expected, small, not weighing a whole lot, resembling a “skint” squirrel, and grandma stuck MY pistol in my dresser drawer – which was my crib- as soon as I was brought home.
Grandma along with mentors and elders said, that was sight to see, me and my pistol, and I had a grin. Not sure what a pistol was yet, but I seemed to like it, and knew it was something special.
For a bit there I liked the leather holster more it is said, chewing on it seemed to ease teething pains.
Age three comes around and Grandma wanted shooting lessons. Me being a Southern Boy and all, assisted with giving his grandma shooting lessons of course, and she was a great student. *grin*.
Grandma could shoot! Handguns, rifles, shotguns, did not matter, she could flat shoot. Country gal and the story go this bear was getting into the blackberries, and getting too close to her kids – my mom, aunt and uncle.
She warned that bear – once, and when the bear did not back off – she shot it dead. Grandpa comes in from town to find this bear that had been dragged to the back porch and “get that thing off my porch, I am busy cooking bear meat, fixing berries and get out of my kitchen”.
Uncle said bear meat and blackberries make a nice supper…
Grandma and others were active with Freedom and Rights. Letters were written in her beautiful handwriting, or typed on a manual typewriter. I “helped”. Not sure what all I wrote with my scribbling’ still at the time I was “writing” letters and “banging away” on a typewriter something in regard to Politics, Wildlife legislation and whatever else.
Yuck! Stamps being licked tasted terrible. Even using a damp sponge, I managed to get that yucky taste in my mouth from off my fingers.
Grandma knew fried apples pies helps to alleviate that yucky taste a grandson gets from “yucky stamps”.
Seems I was talented. I could get sticky from stamps, fried pies, and anything else my little fingers got into, all over everything, including places I could not reach.
Singer Sewing Machines are another thing it seems I was “talented” with, and holds special memories of grandma.
I liked that pedal, and according to some, I still hold the Worlds Record for messing up a bobbin and getting one out of whack.
I was fast too! I could mess up the sewing machine, and take all those drawers out before grandma could get down the hall in that small house I was raised in, and get in a corner and hide in nothing flat!
Grandma had this feeling this grandkid [me] was going to be “different”. Now she had other grandkids by the time I was born from my uncle and aunt, I am the only one she bought a gun for, and taught to shoot, and other activities in regard to guns and Freedom.
She read to me Robert Ruark. I even had a stuffed quail she made me from scraps. Me sitting in her lap, my stuffed quail and would go from being all bright eyed and excited to sleepy little fellow being tucked into bed.
My uncle lived in town; my aunt lived out of state. So from time to time my grandma would go see my aunt out of state, and spoil them grandkids.
I remember the day the black phone rang at the house and it sounded “bad”. Ice storm had hit in that other state and grandma had fallen on the cement driveway just out the back door. They said she died when her head hit the pavement outside, it was quick, and she did not suffer.
She was brought back to my state to be buried and my aunt, her husband and all the family was here. For the funeral, in my little suit coat pocket, I had put some .22 ctgs. I got my Uncle and other Mentors & Elders to bend down and tell him what I wanted to do. Just they and I peering in the casket and I put some .22 ctgs in a pocket of the outfit grandma was buried in.
Nobody but us ever knew this, until now. I…I had to do this for grandma.
I had “outgrown” my little stuffed quail, and …it too went into the casket. Mentors told the funeral folks and it was made quite clear that little stuffed quail was going to stay in that casket.
Today as I have over the years, I went to see Grandma today. My uncle is buried near her, and in the same cemetery are other Mentors and Elders.
I read a bit from Ruark to everyone, standing next to Grandma’s grave.
Thanks Mentors & Elders!
Thanks Grandma!!
Young ‘un
