Memories – Reflections of my life

A few years back, I was on a mission to locate my ancestors. I don’t know why, at my age, suddenly it became a mission other than the fact that I never expected. I would remotely qualify for admission to the Daughters of the American Revolution which is a rigorous effort to document and prove your heritage to a member of your family who served in the Revolution. So, after finding out my grandfather had served in the Revolutionary War, I set out to become a member of the DAR. That’s not the focus of this story, however. While reading everything I can get my hands on that may give me any history of my heritage and pedigree, I read and re-read my momma’s special logbook, “Memories – Reflections of My Life,” looking for clues. Given to her by my son, Jim, momma was thrilled to have a special book to write down the memories of her life in her words for her children and grandchildren to read some day. I look at how she wrote in her unsteady hand with her big black sharpie pen everything she could think of to answer each of the prompts to tell the stories of her life. She ran out of space often and would write up the side of the page trying to get everything on her mind documented.

It was so precious to read her entries and in my mind’s eye, be that chubby little round-faced girl who grew up to become the amazing woman that I called Momma. I can visualize so clearly her wide brown eyes and little fingers as she tiptoes to reach the piano keys. I can see her playing around in the dirt at Big Daddy’s shop with her hammer he “loaned” her to make her table from scrap wood. I imagine the excitement of the little ones getting a “sack” when Big Daddy came home from the store always remembering to bring them some stick candy. And the time when they took a trip to see her brother in the Model T ford which had to be cranked by hand, and they tried to cross the river when it was swollen with flood water from a storm. It frightened them all so much as they hovered under the blanket in the back. And as she grows older, I can imagine how she swooned over my Daddy when she first saw him and was asked out on a date with him when all the girls were asking “who is the new good-looking boy in town?” In another section she tells of their first date, their marriage and their wedding night waking up to snow on the ground in Dublin.

The family of Tom and Nona Scott never had much in terms of material things. They worked hard raising seven boys and three girls in the country near Dellwood, moving to the “city” when she was in high school. According to Momma’s memories, her father was a tall, sturdy and good-looking man, quite muscular and emotionally stable. He was a happy family man, not so well off financially, but always worked hard and made a living for them all. Other than church, he wasn’t a social man much, but had many, many friends that loved and respected him. He was a blacksmith by trade.   Something we don’t know too much about today. He had his own shop where he worked every day repairing wagons wheels and buggies, and shoeing horses. Mother would play with the little scrap pieces of spokes from the wheels and make her a little table using the spokes for the legs. He never used profanity, spoke well, and taught the children never to use slang words. He was beyond reproach as a father and husband. 

Nona, my grandmother, was everything a mother should be. Her home and children were central to her life. She was a happy person, singing hymns while cooking, sewing, and cleaning. She was content with what she had, although she never acquired many worldly goods. Her outlook on life was one that never dwelt in gloom. With just a meager education, she managed to teach her children good grammar and didn’t accept anything less. I still have her little blue Arithmetic schoolbook where she scrawled her name. She loved pretty things, and though nothing she ever owned could have been very expensive, she was a stickler for neatness.   

Attending church was mandatory for the family and family prayers were held each night as they knelt around the fire. Of the people my Momma admired most in her life, she says “First and foremost, as a child, I most admired my mother and Father. They were the greatest two people on earth because they taught us all the right things to say and do and to become. They were special people!”

Reading Momma’s memories of her first day of school, her Christmas seasons, her first date, her marriage, and people who most influenced her in life are like having a sweet conversation with her.  It hasn’t given me the information that I seek for genealogy, but I keep reading through my tears, as I remember who I am, who she was, who her mother and Father were, and how my life was shaped forever by those who loved me and sacrificed for me.