Sitting at my grandparent's side has always been on of my most treasured childhood memories.
Your parents are just so busy with "getting on with living" and they just don't have the time to reminisce like your grandparent's do. So children naturally migrate to the grandparents with more time for the little ones.
The stories they told were of another time and place, one much different from the one that I was growing up in and in my mind's eye, I was transported right there. With each story and scene described, I was there, right beside them both.
My grandparents were a wealth of stories.
My Aunt relayed one such story that I had not heard before.
In the 1930's , when the Great Depression had it's grip on the heart of America, times were hard.
My grandfather raised chickens, cows and an occasional pig, in order to feed his family and make ends meet.
Gastonia was not all that 'country' at that time, but country enough that it was allowed within the city limits to raise up chickens.
He lived not three miles from downtown Gastonia.
Now, sitting at my dear Aunt's side, is as close as I can get to those wonderful old stories once told by Grandpa.
She told of a pig , a sow, that Grandpa raised that had 10 piglets. The children oohed and aahed over the piglets, as kids will do, (this one included) and soon each and every one had a name. Small hands just could not keep away from those little pigs.
Grandpa warned them to not get too attached to the biggest and fattest of the piglets.
That tenth little pig was going to the preacher. It was how things were done then.
You are supposed to tithe to the church 'one tenth', you know. It's the Christian thing to do.
So those little piglets were hugged and loved and carried about, but the fattest one was held aside, special.
Imagine that world for just a moment and allow yourself a smile.
Now, imagine that grunting little pink pig in the offering plate next Sunday morning. Grin.
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