Grampa

As I've mentioned in a previous post, there is some confusion when my parents split up. Depending on who you talk to, it was either shortly before or shortly after I was born. At any rate, my Mom began dating my step-dad while I was still gnawing on her teat. Oddly enough, they knew each other from their childhood. My maternal great- grandfather lived in McNairy County, Tennessee (Home of Buford T. Pusser for those who care) and when my mom would visit, somehow the Taylor skirt tuggers ended up playing with the King rug rats. Eventually, my Mom's brother married my step-dad's sister. Step-dad came to Illinois to visit his sister and ran into my mom, two weeks later, they were married. It lasted over twenty years and I think that is a pretty good run.

I never knew my paternal grandparents. Since my step-dad was raising me, Sam and Flossie King became my de facto grandparents. They were farmers. Sam never wore anything but overalls and only had one tooth (I used to love to watch him eat a hamburger, it was like a hoe tilling a garden) and Flossie made biscuits and chocolate gravy every morning for breakfast. Fun at their house pretty much consisted of sitting on the front porch and pointing at a daisy "hit that one Grandma" and she would bring her fingers to her mouth and spit tobacco juice through them, pelting the poor flower with yummy 'baccy goodness.

Step-pa was one of 13 (that lived) and Sam already had more grandchildren than he could count, but according to mom, as Step-pa bounded up the steps of their tin roofed house with baby me in his arms, Sam immediately reached out for me.

Mom says that shortly after she and Step-Pa were married, they were visiting the Kings one day. She found herself on the porch alone except for the babe in her arms and Sam. There was a lot of rocking, spitting, and saying "yep" when suddenly Sam brought up the fact that he had been married before.

This floored Mom because Step-pa had never mentioned it. (She found out later that it was because he didn't know.) Mom asked what had happened to Sam's first wife. Sam then told her the story of his first marriage.

Sam was a farmer and for a farmer, breakfast is definately the most important meal of the day. Sam like his eggs and bacon and homemade biscuits, but First Wife hated to cook and refused to rise early with Sam and cook his repast. Sam suffered in silence for a number of years, making do on his own the best he knew how. One morning, First Wife happened to rise at the same hour as Sam and he begged her, "Please fix me some breakfast. If you fix me breakfast this morning, I will never ask you again."

First Wife finally relented and fixed Sam his breakfast and according to the tale, it was "a right fine meal."

Sam ate his breakfast, grabbed his cap and walked out the door. And kept walking. True to his word, he never asked First Wife to make breakfast again.

By all accounts, my mother was flabbergasted. "Sam, what did you do? Did you get a divorce?"

Sam contemplated the question for a moment, placed a fresh pinch of snuff between his cheek and gum and replied "Nope, don't reckon I ever did."