DadRock

Like a cat presenting a dead chipmunk

A few minutes ago, I was sitting here minding my own business, and the boy walks up to me holding a cave cricket by one of its legs. He was presenting it to me, as if to say, "Look what I got!" The thing was still alive too, so I'm totally amazed that he was able to just reach down and pick it up. Those things jump like crazy.

As a kid I was terrified of cave crickets because I thought they were spiders. Both of my brothers' rooms were in our basement at the time, and therefore you were pretty likely to find these little buggers jumping around down there. We called them jumping spiders, and they were almost enough to keep me from spending too much time down there alone. Of course, the Nintendo was also down there, so I managed to overcome my fear most of the time.

When Kelly and I lived in Lilburn, Ga, for a few years, we had a big basement that was just overrun with these things at certain times of the year. I grew to not really mind them, as long as they didn't jump directly on me. They're just crickets after all.

But still I was caught off guard to see him presenting this thing to me. My first instinct was, "Drop that!" but then I realized it would likely hop off. So I managed to grab the trashcan and hold it out to him, where he gladly deposited the cricket. I then dumped him outside, where he'll live to hop another day. He's lucky neither of the dogs found him.

Family Heirlooms

My brother and I go to my grandmother's house each Friday to eat lunch and mow the grass. Her house is sitting on like three or four acres, so it's a bit of a job. We divide it up, me on the riding mower, him on the tractor. It's actually sort of relaxing, though, and it gives my mom and grandma some time to play with the kids, which they really enjoy. And, of course, we usually get a good home-cooked lunch. Today we had fried chicken, fried okra, black-eyed peas, cornbread, pasta salad, and big glasses of sweet tea. I had two plates full.

Anyway, there were two cast-iron skillets sitting on the stove when I arrived. I'd remembered a while back my grandmother telling me that she had a skillet that was given to her by her grandmother, so I asked her about it. Basically I knew it was something that no one else in the family would probably have given a second thought to, but I figured when the time came it was something I'd like to get. At any rate, much to my surprise, she pulled it out from the drawer under her stove and offered it to me. I was honored to take it.

It was given to her by her Grandma Seeney (I'm guessing on that spelling and to be honest I'm not even sure which great-great-grandmother this is from, and none of the names on the family tree I referenced fit with Seeney. I'm going to have to do a little more investigating), who used it over a wood-burning stove back when electricity was something city-folk had. She died when my mother was very young. My mom says she only remembers this grandma, her great-grandma, from stories. I'd guess the skillet is at least 100 years old. And it's in wonderful condition. Cast-iron skillets are a special thing; the more you use them, the more durable they seem. As long as you treat them with a little love and care, they will outlast you every time.

I'll use this one, for sure. And even more so, I'll protect it, so that some time, many years from now, I can offer it to one of my grandchildren as a piece of our family from a time they'll barely even be able to comprehend.