Yesterday I received sad news concerning an aunt who was dying from Alzheimer’s. She’s now there in Heaven with God. But I want to go back to the first time I met her. I was seven and a half and she was sixteen. Naturally, I was too young to even consider her as anything more than an older girl who I had become used to as my neighbors’ babysitters who were that very age. She had those oval, black framed glasses that I think she had her entire life even after she graduated and went to college.
It was the first time my parents and sister traveled from Wenatchee, Washington to Childress, Texas. I remembered it was always hot down there and Grandma had an assortment of Mason and Ball jars of vegetables, fruits and something I never heard of black-eyed peas stacked in her pantry.
Mom was all emotional about meeting Grandma. She left Texas back in 49, which I considered ancient history. They hugged, kissed, and cried. She then met her youngest sister, Brenda Sue. The whole routine replayed itself and I just sort of stood there not sure what all the fuss was about.
“Jerry, this is your Grandma Lulu Easley, and this is my sister Brenda; your aunt!” She literally had to push me into their circle because back then I was extremely shy and lacked self-confidence. I reluctantly allowed the two to hug me and kissed my cheeks. I’m sure I blushed a crimson but from the sunburn I experienced, no one noticed.
I remembered Grandma, though the years in between have clouded my perception of what she looked like. I also assumed that anyone over thirty were old, so I had a preconceived notion of what she was supposed to look like juxtaposed to how she actually appeared. I remembered gray hair and cat-eyed glasses just like my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Gilstrap, who was also old.
Brenda was slender and looked like a teenager with black bobbed hair, the before mentioned glasses and pretty face and nice smile. She took me by the hand, and we walked about the small bungalow house and outside.
“You ever seen a horny toad?” She asked me in her usual Texas drawl. I shook my head. I hadn’t said a word to her since our meeting with Mom and Grandma. As I mentioned, I was extremely shy. “Cat’s got your tongue?”
“No,” I replied, finding my voice for the first time. “I don’t see any cat around here.”
She laughed then pointed down to the red clay field in the back yard. “That there is a horny toad.”
I looked down and looked in awe at this lizard about half the size opened palm, with horns all over its body, reminding me of one of those dinosaurs Mrs. Gilstrap introduced to us before we departed for summer vacation. “Is that real?”
“You’re funny. Yes, he’s real.” She then reached down and grabbed for him. She missed the first time as it scooted just out of her reach then she entrapped it with both her hands snatched the little bugger and proceeded to show me, offering him to me.
“Does he bite?”
“No, silly, he don’t bite. Go ahead, pet him.”
I petted him and then eventually I got the nerve up to actually hold him in my small hands. I looked up at her my grin belying how this simple and single act actually affected me to this very day as tears water my eyes. Goodbye Brenda, love you always.
Jerry Schellhammer 