For the first 5 years of my life, I enjoyed being spoiled by 10 grandparents. I had 4 grandparents, 4 great grandfathers, 1 great grandmother and a great great grandmother, who was so old she literally witnessed Geronimo’s surrender in Lawton, OK, in the old west days. Her dad, my great great great grandfather was named Crandall and founded Crandall, Texas.
Crandall’s daughter, my great great grandmother was Stella Sappenfield, after she married George Washington Sappenfield. We called her Ma and she appeared to be around 150 years old, even though she was in her 90's. She was very kind to me, but she was hell to my grandmother, mother and any other woman around the household. I loved being at her house in Whitesboro, TX, because I could get away with murder in front of my parents and they could do nothing. She defended me, told my folks they were too rough on me, asked me to stay the night, gave me candy, made cookies and I could do anything I wanted. If I needed to relieve myself, I would pee off the back porch...no fuss, no muss...bam, you are done! She thought I was precious! Once my parents got me back into their grasp and away from Ma, I had to endure a lot of pay back…but it was worth it.
My great grandfather McMahan was the same way…he was my granny, Sally Joe Sappenfield’s, dad and he thought I was terrific. He lived in a little house behind my grandparents in Whitesboro. He would get me away from my parents and stuff my pockets with candy and money. I remember one Sunday evening my granny and mother left me in his care as they went to the Whitesboro Methodist church service. I had a terrible cold and a deep, racking cough. He tucked me into bed, tuned his radio to a baseball game and came back with a giant serving spoon…the kind one would use with a big bowl of mashed potatoes. He filled it with sugar, laced it heavily with whiskey and popped it into my mouth. It felt like a bomb went off in my head and I saw stars. He then took a long swig out of the bottle, looked at me closely and decided I should have one more. He filled up the spoon with sugar, poured bourbon all over it and shoved it my mouth once more. The impact was not nearly as bad the second time. He took another hit, turned off the light in the bedroom and I fell into a deep coma-like sleep. When granny and mother woke me up to take me home, I WAS WELL! No cough, nothing! It was a miracle! After that specific visit, I sought out ways to visit him and he would usually be kind enough to give me another hit of the whiskey/sugar treatment...it was better than soda pop!
My great grandfather Frank Kenner was an interesting guy. He outlived several wives and in what had to be his mid-ninety’s my father told me Grandpa Frank was getting married again. I asked why would he want to get married. Dad said, he didn’t want to, he had to…implying this ancient, frail old man had impregnated some young maiden. It made a good story, but I doubted it’s accuracy. However, he did get married.
My great grandpa Reed was blind and would sit by the window and listen to me play by myself on the porch of his home in Dorchester. I incorporated a variety of voices for the various characters I was portraying and he asked my mother who was out there with me. She would look and assure him I was alone. He kept listening because he could not believe I didn’t have an entire cast on players in his front yard. I would sit with him outside and he once asked me to bring him a hen. I gently folded her wings and brought her to him. With a snap of his wrist he popped her head off and began to pluck feathers. I thought he had lost his mind, leaned against the house and got sick. It never occurred to me where wonderful fried chicken came from. I vowed to never eat chicken again, until supper time rolled around and I promptly forgot my pledge.
Grandma Reed dipped snuff and always had tobacco juice in the creases of her mouth and lips. Inevitably, when it was time to leave I was called upon to give her a kiss. I complained to my father that she had a nasty mouth. In an exasperated tone he told me to quit complaining…just suck it up and do it!
I have very happy memories of these 10 grandparents and feel very fortunate to have had them so close. Their genetic make up made me who I am and they gave me an example of how to love grandchildren. Give them attention, lots and lots of undivided attention and marinate them in love.
That's a darling story. I didn't know of the incident till you told me and bet neither your grandmother nor your mother knew of the "curative treatment". Grayson County Texas was "dry". With limited funds and no car it was difficult for Granddad to get whiskey. One time a full bottle of "Jim Crow" appeared in his ice box. (A true ice box that he paid 25 cents for the ice block, delivered; as a child I drank ice water from that cooler.) As the bottle was new I watched it carefully. Steadily the amber liquid disappeared. Granddad would sit in his chair singing softly. Before long the bottle was gone and Granddad was back to his old quiet self. As a child I told my mother everything, but I never said a word about this. I must have felt that he was too precious to "tell on".
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