MAKING MEMORIES

Recently, on an overly warm Sunday afternoon, I phoned and invited two 16-year-old granddaughters––cousins to each other––to go "alley walking." These girls are intense, and keep to tight schedules even in the summer. Puzzling at my invitation, they agreed.

As we ambled along, talking and seeing all the interesting things one sees in back yards, Molly asked me to tell her "your plan for this walk." 

"No plan,” I said. “We'll walk until we get tired, then we'll go home." She stopped and stiffened. “I mean, what’s our schedule?”

“No schedule. No structure. No plan,” I said. “We’re just going to walk and talk and look at stuff.”

Along the way, I pointed out the back of the large frame house where their great, great grandfather lived when he was passing through McAlester on horseback with one of his brothers.

“The house was called ‘The Batch,’” I said. “He was 21 years old, a few years older than you are now. It was a rooming house for young, single men. Boarders took their meals there. His brother rode on, but your great, great granddaddy liked McAlester and decided to stay. 

       "With money his dad had given him, he invested in a wholesale grocery venture. He did well. He married and had a family. He and his wife joined with other young couples to start the Episcopal church here. He was a charter member of the Elks club and the country club and several other civic and social groups.”

The girls asked questions and giggled, drawing mental pictures of their common ancestor and what his life was like, pictured him walking down this same alley behind this same house all those years ago.  

An hour later, my son, Molly’s dad, stopped his car at an intersection. He had been looking for us.

“Anyone want a ride?” he asked, arching his eyebrows. 

We were perspiring pretty freely by then, yet none of the three of us responded. I was leaving it up to the girls. 

"Actually, Dad,” Molly said finally, “I think I'll stay with Nana, if you don't mind."

        “How about if I take us all for some ice cream?” A tempting offer, indeed.

"Maybe later." 

        Perhaps a little offended, he looked at me. I shrugged.

“Dad, did you know about ‘The Batch’?” his daughter asked.

He glanced down the alley, nodded and smiled, then regarded me again. “You told them about their great, grandfather, did you?”

It was my turn to grin. “Great great grandfather to them. Yes.”

He laughed remembering alley walking years before and his dad telling him and his brother and sisters stories about generations of his family involved in the development of our hometown.

“I could leave the car here and go with you,” he offered.

“No, thanks, Dad," Molly said. "We're just kind of taking it easy. Girl talking. We’ll catch up with you later.”

The girls and I walked a while longer before we turned toward home, laughing, sharing, sweating, relaxed, and closer than ever before, making memories.