• Health
• Money
• Leisure
• Make a Difference
• Family
• Online Community
• Membership

 Here is another "true" story

     The year was 1948; the place was Fairhope, Alabama.  My father had just been transferred to Fairhope, from Hawkins, Texas.  We had only been living in Alabama a couple of months when the giant reared it’s ugly head.

     "Momma, why don’t you fix grits like Johnny’s momma?" asked my brother.

     "I’ve never eaten a grit much less cooked one in my life," replied my mother, "but I’ll see what I can come up with."

     In 1948 some staples like rice, oatmeal, cream of wheat and grits were sold without directions.  So grits came in a grits box and that’s all I can say on the subject.

     The day after my mother bought the box of grits I came downstairs very early so I could watch her cook the grits.  "Are you sure you know how to cook these things?" my father asked my mother, as he walked out the door to go to work.

     "I suppose it’s like cooking rice, nothing to it!" stated my mother.

     She put some water in a pot to boil and added some grits.  Whoa, way too thick, she added more water.  Way too thin, she added more grits.  She then grabbed her big soup pot and poured in the blob of grits, and the stuff kept on growing.  She brought out her canner pot and used that.  Soon the grits out grew the canner pot, so mother whipped out the turkey roaster.  Some situation, too thin, add grits, Too thick, add water.  She frantically looked around the kitchen and came up with a #2 enamel washtub.  Thankfully, by this time she had run out of grits, but the grits kept growing.

     She stood back from the growing mess, flung her potholders in the sink, threw up her hands and shouted, "It’s alive, It’s alive!"  She then turned around and ran outside and left me alone with the giant.  It must have been alive because it made noises like "plup, plup, plup."

     After a few minutes mother returned, picked up the potholders and grabbed the #2 enamel washtub by the handles and out the backdoor she went, with me right behind her.

     In the middle of the backyard I saw she had dug a deep hole and this was where she tossed the #2 enamal washtub, grits and potholders.  She shoveled all the dirt back into the hole and then patted the mound with the back of the shovel.  We both stood there real quiet hoping we wouldn’t hear those "plup, plup, plups".

     My mother and I made a pact that morning.  I would always get Kool-Aid with my lunch if I wouldn’t tell my dad about mother killing the giant and burying it in the back yard.  I learned a valuable lesson that day.  I learned rice and grits aren’t anything alike.