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Generations


We southerners have been accused of being eccentrics. Folks from Savannah to Rome don't seem to mind that little barb as we enjoy talking to all our kinfolks; those living as well as those who have gone on to the great beyond. We also tend to wander back to the old homeplace when it becomes vacant...

I cut Aunt Velma's grass when I was a kid. I enjoyed the job. Her lawn was much smaller than ours. We sat on the steps of her porch and admired the cut lawn while drinking in the smell of watermelon; at least that's what we decided a freshly mowed lawn smelled like. Aunt Velma was born in 1900. It was easy for a kid to compute her age. She walked to neighbors' houses and rode everywhere else with family or friends. She never drove a car. Mama and Aunt Velma lived within eyeing distance of one another. They talked on the phone each night before they turned the lights off. I can just imagine the loneliness Aunt Velma felt when her phone stopped ringing at bedtime. I sat on the concrete porch with Aunt Velma a month after my Mama died. "I 'shore' do miss your Mama."

Aunt Velma died two years later. My Daddy was left to gaze out at the darkness.

Aunt Velma's son, Bob and his wife, Carolyn, moved to Aunt Velma's vacated house and made it their home. My Daddy had a light to see in the night. He told me how dark it was up the lane when Bob and Carolyn weren't home. "I sure do like to look out and see a light up there."

Bob and Carolyn checked on my Daddy. Daddy kept an eye on Bob and Carolyn. He thought they 'went' too much. When Daddy died in 1995 Bob and Carolyn were greeted with darkness when they looked out their westward-facing window. It would be that way for close to a year.

I moved my family back to my homeplace. When I look out the window I search for a light at Bobbie Gene and Carolyns. They are comforted to see a light as they look to the west.

When I walk in my yard, Bobbie Gene sees the woman who tried to teach him to play setback when he was a lad. His mind plays tricks. He knows Mama stopped calling Aunt Velma at bedtime years ago.

The copyright of the article Generations in Georgia is owned by Vyvyan Lynn. Permission to republish Generations in print or online must be granted by the author in writing.

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