writersdolaundrytoos: The Not-So-Annual Prophitt Reunion

My mom's family used to ALWAYS have a family reunion on Father's Day weekend...each year....my grandfather was one of fourteen....a different family would host it at their house, their church, a community building....whatever....but for the past 10 years it has been more sporadic and my family has hosted it. We have had it at the Arbor or Fellowship Hall of my church, or at Amanda's. Our mothers would co-host this with Amanda and I. This year...inspite of all that has happened.....Amanda, Missi, Linda and I are hosting the Prophitt reunion at Amanda's house. Our family is providing paper products and the meat....all the rest have to do is bring a side or dessert. It is going to be Father's Day weekend again. I am excited. The invitations have all been mailed....or emailed....or facebooked.....complete with directions and now it is just a waiting game. I will be in Mobile on Weds. through Friday of that week....but will be there early Saturday morning with bells on. Now...what you don't know about my family....what sets us apart. Most families that have gatherings such as these....sit around and talk....oh no...not us.....we are all into geneaology and many of us are musical.....so there will be a table (complete with a scanner or two) of family facts to check or copy. There will be guitars, singers, banjo players, etc....and there will be what is known as a guitar pull.....every player/singer will have a turn at throwing out a song and the group will then join in. It is the most fun ever. Music has always been on the front burner or our family. So, let me tell you a couple of family stories/memories...once along time ago....my great (not sure how many) grandfather rode a horse into the courthouse and shot the lights out. My grandfather was 2 years old when he moved from Harris Co. Georgia to Tallassee, AL...they crossed the Chattahoochee on a flat bed barge....and because of a storm lost all of their supplies....my great-grandmother made cornbread without salt and soda....and until the day my grandfather died that was the way he ate it. My grandfather smoked Prince Albert in a can and rolled his own. I used to love watching him roll his cigarettes. My grandfather was a twin. He was tall and thin and his twin brother was short and portly. They looked nothing alike....but their wives could have been twin sisters. My great-aunt Eula (my grandfathers SIL)....is 107 years old, still gets her hair done each Friday, and is the cutest little lady you have ever seen....and sharp as a tack. For breakfast each morning my grandfather would take his left over Luzian coffee (it was so thick a spoon would stand up in it)...break up the uneaten postion of his biscuit and pour his coffee on it and eat it. If we were really good...he would fix us a saucer of this delightful concoction he called "soaky." I loved it as a kid and was thrilled when I saw it on a menu in a restaurant not long ago. Back in the day....before we became soft...and air conditioning was a must....my grandmother would fix lunch...serve it....then cover the left overs on the table with a covering cloth and whoever was there at supper would eat it again. That would not happen today! My grandfather had drink boxes by his shed. If we were good he would either open it and give us each a soda...or give us a nickel/dime to get our own. These were the kind of boxes where you would move your bottle through a maze like thing to get it to the pulling out place. One of my favorite stories of my grandfather had to do with him asking you to get something....the first time he would ask you, the second time he would ask you a little louder, the third time he would point....and the last time....he would pull you in the crook of his arm....point with his left arm....and take his right finger and run it down his arm and say, "Follow my finger boy....follow my finger." I loved being in the crook of his arm....I loved the smell of my grandfather....he wore Old Spice and it would mingle with the smell of the Prince Albert. I adored him....and my little grandmother too. I called her that because from the time I was in fifth grade...I was taller than she was. She was a mess. They did not have a door in their house that did not have a crack in it and she did not have a pot that would sit flat on the stove....if she got mad at my grandfather...she would grab a pan and hurl it at him....usually it would hit just after the door closed behind him. My granddaddy was no fool. They worked for years at Avondale Mills. On the side my grandfather fixed sewing machines, watches, and clocks. Life at 55 Iris Ave. was wonderful for a child. What kind of memories do you have of your grandparents? Leave me one in my comments....someday I might tell you about my dad's side...believe me...it was as different as night and day. Have a wonderful Thursday.