Long Gone, but Still Loved
ALAN writes:
My maternal grandmother enjoyed crocheting and playing cards. During intense thunderstorms, she would walk from room to room, carrying a lighted candle and praying. I have only one picture in which she is smiling—at the sight of her infant grandson being placed on a pony at a school picnic in 1950. She loved watching Western movies and TV shows because she understood and valued the iron moral code upheld in those Westerns. When I was a toddler, she held me on her lap as we watched the weekly adventures of “The Lone Ranger.” She died when I was seven years old.
I agree with Lydia Sherman’s remarks about the neglect of grandparents and the disintegration of American families.
My paternal grandparents died years before I was born. I knew my maternal grandparents, but not nearly as well as I could and should have known them. My grandfather worked for a printing company and my grandmother was a housewife. When I was a boy they walked with us to Sunday morning Mass at our Catholic church, two blocks from where we lived. Both of them came from large families. One of my grandfather’s nephews and his wife had twelve children—six of one and half a dozen of the other. (more…)



