Sweet Memories of My "Kennedy" Compound

 

I have trouble separating the memories of my first eight years of childhood. Nearly all memories from that time combine into an idyllic era filled with family, love, contentment, carefreeness, safety. I wish that I had the power to bestow upon every child the near-perfection of my first eight years. My later childhood was good, my life so far has been good, just not the idyllic perfection of my first eight years.

I was born in Dayton, Ohio to young, first-time parents. They had little in the way of financial security but they were rich in the amount of love they both received and gave. They were part of something special that was much bigger than themselves. Several family members of both of my parents lived in an area of Dayton within a ten-minute walk from each other.

My parents were part of an extended family in which members shared a mutualistic symbiotic relationship. The members supported each other and had each other’s backs. In later years after learning a bit about history, I would liken this to my family’s own “Kennedy” Compound, just without the fame or fortune.

When I was born, my parents lived in a little rented brown shingle-sided house at 336 Knox Avenue. Later, before my brother was born, my parents bought a little white-sided house just down the road at 320 Knox Avenue. That home at 320 was not much more than a shell of a home when they purchased it. Snow actually blew through cracks between the window and the sill into my brother’s crib the first winter we were there. Dad worked on it in his spare time until it was a beautiful and cozy little home.

                                                          Mom had just stepped on a bee.

                                                              Life at 336 Knox Avenue

If you stepped out of my family’s home at either 336 or 320  and walked in a right direction up the road, a few houses down on the right would be where Aunt Alta, Uncle Bug, their three children, my Uncle Johnnie and Granny lived.

                   A "recent" photo of Alta and Bug's Knox home.

Now Aunt Alta was really my great-aunt but she and Uncle Bug were more like grandparents to me. When Alta’s sister Rachel died, Aunt Alta and Uncle Bug had taken in my mother and her baby brother Johnnie to raise. Mom’s other five siblings ended up in children’s homes. Over the years, Aunt Alta lamented more than once that she wished that she could have taken in all seven of the siblings but she just couldn’t do it. Mom was ten and Johnnie was one or two when they moved in with Aunt Alta and Uncle Bug. Granny was Alta and Rachel’s mother so she was my great-grandmother. Everyone called her Granny, even the neighborhood kids.

                                                Granny and me.

Now, if you came out the door of our Knox home and went left down the road and then left around the corner, you could walk to the end of that road and then walk across a path worn into a grassy piece of land, and come to Maeder Avenue. The house nearly in front of you would be the home of Uncle John and Aunt Hortense’s family. John was Aunt Alta’s brother and my great-uncle by blood. He was married to Hortense who was my dad’s sister and my aunt by blood. Just to the left of Uncle John and Aunt Hortense’s home was the home of Davilee and Sherlock’s family. Davilee was Dad and Hortense’s sister so she was also my aunt. Later, Uncle Bug and Aunt Alta would move to a home on Calumet Lane and this is the home that I really associate with them.  You could stand in Uncle John’s backyard and look across a field to see the back of Aunt Alta and Uncle Bug’s home.

Uncle John and Aunt Hortense's home on Maeder Avenue.

      The home of Aunt Davilee and Uncle Sherlock on Maeder Avenue. 

So we had quite a bit of family localized in a small area. My family’s little corner of Dayton is what I would later call our “Kennedy” Compound.

While I have memories of my own home, I have just as many at the homes of my other family members. Mom tells me that before I was born, my cousin Linda, everyone called her Kookie, claimed me as her baby. She would often come to our Knox home, put me on her hip and pack me back to Aunt Alta and Uncle Bug’s house where I enjoyed the love of myriad family members. Sometimes she would take me to Uncle John and Aunt Hortense’s house where I would enjoy the company of even more family. I was like a little nomad constantly searching for another spot to land and wherever I landed, I was surrounded by loving faces.

                                             Kookie and me.

Just as I was constantly traveling between homes, others were visiting and staying with my family there on Knox Avenue. My maternal grandfather stayed with us for a short time. My aunt and her three children stayed with us briefly two or three times. Dad would drive down to Kentucky to pick up Mom’s siblings to visit us during breaks from their schools.

                                                 Granny with David, Lola's kids and me.

                                            Neighbor Kimmy, Aunt Lola's kids, David and I.

                                                                    Grandpa visiting.
 

                                Dad building a radio in Knox kitchen.

Me in front of Cedar chest made by Uncle Billy.

                                    Granny and David at 320 Knox

             Me in my bed that was in the corner of the living room.

Prince Albert cans filled with caterpillars would often be under that bed.

Birthday celebration on Knox.

                                       Uncle Ronnie visiting Knox.                        

                                    

On Thanksgiving and Christmas, my uncles, along with my male cousins would travel to one house and have a meal before continuing on to the home of another family member for another meal. They made rounds getting in as many delicious meals as possible before my uncles had to return to the children's home and school.

So I was either traveling around to see family or family was coming to Knox to see us. It was such a sweet time filled with so much family and love.

I especially recall visiting at Aunt Alta’s and Uncle Bug’s Calumet Lane home. I believe that I saw them on a nearly daily basis. I remember that Granny raised chickens and I can recall her getting a shipment of baby chicks. I can recall a cardboard box with holes dotting the top from whence a cacophony of peeps could be heard. I remember waiting in anticipation as Grandma opened that box and I recall peering down into the bottom of that box to see yellow fluff balls trying to climb over each other to get out. She would take the chicks to her chicken house and feed and water them with upside-down mason jars with special feeding and watering “lids”.

After those chicks grew up, they would lay eggs that Granny would fry for breakfast. A few unlucky ones would end up as fried chicken but at least, they didn’t end up as ordinary fried chicken; they ended up as Granny’s most delicious fried chicken!

I remember when Mary Poppins first came out, Kookie took me on an electric bus downtown to watch it at the theater. That was such an adventure! I got to ride on an electric bus. I had so often been awed when seeing those streetcars go about town tethered to the lines overhead. That was probably the first time that I had seen a movie in a theater. My family usually watched movies at the drive-in down Third Street. Those movies were special also because sometimes, there were fireworks after the show!

I recall after seeing Mary Poppins, someone had purchased me a vinyl “carpet”bag with an attached umbrella that I was convinced was just like Mary Poppins’ magical possessions. Our neighbors behind us would babysit my brother and I occasionally. They had a low overhang over their basement access. I remember plans to climb up onto that low roof to go flying off with my magical umbrella and carpetbag being thwarted by a much too observant babysitting neighbor!

I remember sitting on Aunt Alta and Uncle Bug’s front porch in the summers. Sometimes we would be waiting for Granny to use her huge butcher knife to slice open a big ripe watermelon bought from a local stand. The watermelon of my youth was the sweetest, juiciest, most delicious watermelon I have ever eaten. Maybe having fun spitting the seeds made it better…or maybe swallowing the seeds and anticipating growing your own watermelons is what made them so good!

We also sat out on the porch waiting for Dad, Uncle Bug or someone else to bring home a gallon jug of ice cold root beer from the stand up on Third Street. Everyone would hold a glass out so it could be filled with cold, delicious perfection, unmatched by any root beer to this day.

Often, Kookie and I would just sit out on the porch swing and swing. Sometimes we would just sit. Sometimes we would talk. I remember once that Kookie told me that Granny was more hers than she was mine. I asked her how that could be. She told me that Granny was her grandmother but she was my great-grandmother. Of course she was my GREAT-grandmother, Granny’s greatness was surely beyond  question! Besides, wouldn’t that mean that Kookie was just Granny’s granddaughter while I was her GREAT-granddaughter!

The porch swing in future years; Uncle Johnnie, Aunt Alta and Aunt Lola.

Aunt Alta; Granny's chickens and chicken house in background. Across the field is Uncle John and Aunt Hortenses's house.

Never too big for Granny's lap.

Calumet kitchen.

                         Uncle Bug and Granny in Calumet kitchen.             
                                 

 Uncle Olen on leave visiting Calumet.   

 Uncle Bug near Calumet garage. Home in background.

                                                  Holiday picnic.

Uncle Johnnie worked just up Calumet and across Third Street at Estridge’s Market. Kookie would often walk with me up to see Uncle Johnnie there. I was Uncle Johnnie’s tenth birthday present as we shared birthdays and we would often celebrate with cake together.

        Uncle Johnnie and I sharing our birthday with David and Granny

When we visited him at Estridge’s, he would buy me a pop, usually a Barq’s Red Crème Soda and candy. He would let me pick out a whole little paper bag full of penny candies. I guess that Kookie would hop me up on sugar and if I got too hyper she could take me home!

Uncle Johnnie also worked at a little donut shop on Third Street. I remember on the weekends, he would bring home a box full of donuts that he and his buddies had made at the shop. Those were the best donuts that I have ever eaten too! It seems that all of the flavors of my childhood make more recent flavors pale in comparison. Perhaps it is not that the watermelons, the root beer, the donuts of my youth tasted so much better but that the presence of long gone loved ones is what made them so very sweet.

So my first eight years were filled with boocoodles of family; great-grandmothers, great-aunt/grandmother, great-uncle/grandfather, great-uncle/uncle, great-aunt/aunt, uncles, aunts, cousins of every “denomination”. I was surrounded by family and seeing that family was not a rare occurrence. Many of them I was blessed to see on nearly a daily basis.

This idyllic childhood came to a rather abrupt end in the April of my eighth year. One day instead of going to visit with Aunt Alta, Uncle Bug, Granny, Cousins Kookie, Dale and Denny, and Uncle Johnnie, I was whisked over to the Cecils’ home who were Aunt Alta and Uncle Bug’s neighbors. Granny had been taken to the hospital. I did not know what was going on. I only knew that my Granny was in the hospital and I was not allowed to go see her.

I remember sitting quietly and still in a chair in the Cecils’ living room. I remember a vise clamping down on my heart and with each moment that passed, the harder became its grip on my heart. I remember the fear, the confusion… Where was my Granny? What were they doing to my Granny? Why were they keeping me away from my Granny, the angel that had been a sweet daily presence in my life?

I don’t know how long I sat there in the Cecils’ living room but eventually, someone came and took me home because Granny had died. I am not sure if I knew what dying meant. I am not sure if I cried or continued to sit quietly or maybe I went on about play? I just don’t remember that.

I do remember going to Granny’s funeral. I remember refusing to walk by her casket to see my beautiful Granny lying in a box! I wanted to be standing by my Granny as we looked down into a box of chaotic yellow fluff balls together not into a box at my still, sweet Granny!

I did not cry until they started singing “In the Sweet By-and-By’ and then my cries burst forth. Granny was so well-loved and I know that others shed quiet tears but the sounds of my eight-year-old heart breaking must have seemed like an erupting Krakatoa amongst that quiet grief. I probably added to my mother’s own grief but I could not help it. I recall saying over and over, “I want to go home! Take me home!”

For some reason, it seemed so very important that I go home. Perhaps my eight-year-old mind had thought that if I were at home, I wouldn’t have to wait until the “sweet by-and-by” to see my sweet Granny. Perhaps I imagined that Kookie would come by the house, take my hand, lead me outside, around the corner, across a path worn into a patch of grass, up by Uncle John and Aunt Hortense’s house, across a field and into the house on Calumet where I would go into the kitchen and hug my sweet angel Granny.

So April 22, 1968, was the date that my fondest memory of childhood, really a tightly woven strand of many memories, ended. Two or three months later, my family moved to a farm in the countryside a few miles outside the small town of Wartrace, Tennessee. There I had an aunt, an uncle and an older male cousin that lived a mile or two up the road.

The idyll ended in April and a few months later the “Kennedy” Compound ended…at least for me.

Time Traveling Tourist

 

If I could time travel, I would for certain carry a good supply of paper and pens with me, as well as a camera! I think that I might go back to 1545 to Belsay Castle in Northumberland England, close to the border with Scotland. There, I believe that I could meet my 13X great-grandparents Lancelot and Ann Fenwick Middleton, as well as my 12X great-grandpa George, a baby at that time.

The Belsay Castle had been built by Middletons and inhabited by them for some time. It would be nice to visit a real castle that was actually a historical family home and a castle seems so far removed from the simple abodes of other family members that I am familiar with. I could have visited other greats there, but I just could not resist visiting my family’s very own Lancelot!

So, I would visit my greats and I would surely pester them for stories concerning our family history. I would observe how they went about their lives living in a castle already a few centuries old. I would record everything on my paper and with my camera so that I could bring it all back with me to share with current family. And while they shared family history with me, I would share family future with them. I would tell them stories of their 10XG grandson  Calvin Middleton and his daughter Nancy Middleton Smith. I would tell them about some of the simple but so fine folks that resulted from their union.

Now, Belsay castle is just over 21 miles from Hadrian’s Wall which had been built by Roman Emperor Hadrian to defend Rome’s northernmost holds from invading Scots. If I could use my time travel skills to zoom on over to Hadrian’s Wall rather than depending upon the travel methods of the day, I would certainly visit that historic site before visiting Scotland.

My DNA indicates 40% Scottish ethnicity so I must have a few ancestors from there. I suspect that my McQueen and Davidson lines may have originated in Scotland. Even if I couldn’t visit specific places where they lived because I just don’t know where that is, it would be wonderful to visit their homeland and imagine that the sights I was seeing were once viewed through their eyes too.

I would also visit Ireland. I know that my Nolen and Flanary lines have ties to Ireland and others likely do, as well. I would visit County Carlow. My 13XG Gpa Donough Hugh Nowlin was born there in 1545 so I could meet his dad 14 XG gpa Awly Nuallain Nowlin and find out who 14XG gma was! Perhaps I could even rock my 13XG gpa to sleep while singing a lullaby! I would love to visit Dublin where my 9XG grandpa Pierce Nowland was born. He would in the future migrate to America and reside in Virginia.  

I imagine that the landscape of both Scotland and Ireland would make me feel right at home. I always feel like a prodigal daughter come home when I am in the Appalachians and those mountains were once connected to the mountains of Ireland and the Scottish Highlands. They were all part of the Central Pangean Mountains of the supercontinent Pangaea during the Triassic period. They would later drift apart but perhaps there is some metaphysical tie that is not as easily rent asunder as mere stone, trees, and earth. My ancestors who left Ireland and Scotland for America and traveled to eventually settle in Appalachia must have felt a familiarity and perhaps felt like they had come “home” also.

So, that is my where and when I would travel for my distant past time travel. I would love to do as I have written, but I have a greater desire to travel to a place and time less distant and more recent. For this trip, I would want to be accompanied by my children, my niece, and my granddaughter and we would go back to around 1967 to Anglin Branch in Owsley County, Kentucky. Who knows we might even run into me as a seven-year-old visiting Grandpa and Grandma David and Nancy Middleton Smith with my parents and my younger brother David. That would be kind of freaky seeing myself as a seven-year-old, But it would be neat for my kids, my niece, and my granddaughter to see me as a kid, their uncle and father as a kid, and their grandparents when they were quite young. Of course, they know that we once were young too, but they probably have a difficult time imagining that. Heck, sometimes I have a hard time imagining those wonderful and carefree days too!

Even as a child, visiting my grandparents there on Anglin was like a "traveling back in time" adventure.

My family lived in Dayton, Ohio. Our home was very modest, but we did have indoor facilities and we got our drinking water from the faucet in the kitchen. It had central heat from a furnace. We lived on quiet and paved Knox Avenue. We had a pretty nice little yard but it wasn’t huge. We could easily see the homes of neighbors living to the left and right of us and the fore and aft of us. There was a pretty nice field directly in front of our house that belonged to our trash man Bill Guthrie but houses lined much of the street. We had a telephone and television. Of course, our television was not anything like current TVs. They were big and boxy and only had a few channels and the black and white programming went off the air at midnight.

Now when we visited Grandpa and Grandma, we traveled into the hills of Eastern Kentucky. We traveled some curvy roads to get there and my brother David, who was prone to car-sickness, would often have to move up to the front seat. It seems that watching the landscape coming at you through the windshield is less stomach-curdling than seeing it fly by out the side window. So we traveled some “treacherous” roads to arrive at Anglin Branch Road. Now back then, Anglin Branch Road was just a dirt road and did not even have gravel. Anglin branch had its own little twists and turns and rises and falls. When that dirt got wet, and it seemed that our visits were often accompanied by rain, the dirt of Anglin Branch would turn into a mud slick. No one drives better than my dad, but when it rained, often even Dad could not coax the car to navigate that mud slick. He would often have to park the car and we would walk the rest of the way to Grandpa and Grandma’s house.

There were a few folks who lived along the way. I remember Oscar and Laura Edwards lived in a little white house tucked back into a holler on the right. Laura always had the most beautiful flowers around her house; sultanas, lantanas…I can’t remember what they all were but I know that they were all beautiful! Lishie and Sarah Green lived in a house on the left. I don’t remember much about them but Sarah was some kind of cousin.

There was a log type two-story home on the left just before reaching Grandpa and Grandma’s house. This is where Laura Edward’s father Henry “Hen” Sandlin had lived. In 1957, despondent over ill health, he went to his barn and hung himself. Grandpa was the one who had cut him down from the rope hanging from the rafters.

So after passing Hen’s old place, Grandpa and Grandma’s little piece of Heaven was there on the left. It was a little white-sided farmhouse. In the winter, smoke would be rising from the coal stove in the living room and the coal grate in the bedroom. That and layers of Grandma’s handmade quilts was what kept a body warm in winter. In summer, Grandma had flowers in the yard. She always had a couple of old tire planters filled with moss roses. I remember hollyhocks blooming profusely in the side yard. Dad tells me that Grandma had grown huge dahlias as big as dinner plates at some time, but I don’t remember them so maybe that was before my time.

Grandpa and Grandma had electricity and a faucet in the kitchen which they used for washing dishes and filling washbasins and tubs for sponge baths and tub baths. They didn’t have indoor facilities but they had a two-holer outhouse down a worn path alongside the waters of Anglin Branch. There Charmin was replaced with outdated Sears and Roebuck, Montgomery Ward, Alden, Spiegel and J C Penney catalogs. At night, we would slide a five-gallon lard stand converted into a chamber pot from under the bed to pee. I can almost hear the sound of pee hitting the side of that metal lard stand!

Grandma drew drinking water from a well just off of the back porch. She would drop a bucket down into the well and then pull up some of the coolest and sweetest water to cross any lips. She would pour the water from the well bucket into a metal bucket that would be kept on the enameled Hoosier cabinet in the kitchen. There was an aluminum dipper that rested in the bucket and everyone would dip out a drink of water and sip it down from the dipper before placing it back into the bucket for the next thirsty person. Thankfully, we didn’t have worries about Covid-19 back then!

Now, back in Dayton, some family members had enough land to raise gardens so we did have homegrown produce there but much of our food came from the local grocery. On Anglin, Grandma gathered eggs for breakfast from her laying hens. If a hen had quit laying or too many roosters tried to rule the roost, we might even have chicken and dumplings or some scrumptious fried chicken. Grandpa milked the cow for milk and Grandma would skim the cream off of the top and rock it in a gallon jug over her knee until she had some delicious butter. If visiting during the cool times, a hog might be slaughtered and we could have some fresh pork tenderloin to eat with Grandma’s homemade buttermilk biscuits, tenderloin gravy and fried apples. Sometimes Dad would pour a bit of Bob White syrup onto his plate and mix in some butter to eat with a biscuit.

Grandpa and Grandma didn’t have a salt shaker; they had a little bowl of salt that they kept on the table. If you needed salt, you would take a pinch and sprinkle it over your food. Grandpa had to use salt substitute because of heart trouble so he was stuck mundanely shaking from the little cardboard “bottle” of a substitute. He didn’t get to pinch like the rest of us.

Grandpa and Grandma raised a big garden and Grandma knew how to turn that produce into tasty meals. Fresh corn and green beans, new potatoes, juicy ripe tomatoes, sweet potatoes…  Grandma made them into meals fit for royalty or even some of her Middleton ancestors that called a castle home!

She also knew how to preserve that produce for later. Some like arsh potatoes, sweet potatoes, turnips, cabbages… could be stored for a time in a root cellar. She canned much of their garden harvest and she even canned sausage. She also dried apples, pumpkin rings and I can remember helping to make green bean necklaces to dry for shuck beans. She made lots of jellies, jams and butters from the fruits they grew.

Grandpa had an old mule and a horse named Silver. Grandpa grew tobacco to make a little money and he used the mule to plow the tobacco base and his garden spot. I have seen both him and Uncle Gayle walking behind the mule-pulled plow geeing and hawing to let the mule know where to go. In Dayton, my uncles used tractors to plow their fields but on Anglin, time marched at a slower pace and old ways still clung to life. Mule power still won out over horsepower.

Grandpa and Grandma did not have a television or telephone for many years. They would get them later, but I don’t really recall them having a TV. It sounds like it would be a boring place for kids but there was a creek behind their house. In that creek, there were minnows and crawdaddies that called to children like sirens. We would borrow one of Grandma’s mason jars or an empty coffee tin that hadn’t already been repurposed as a spittoon and we would wade in the creek, lifting rocks trying to make temporary hostages of the crawdaddies and minnows that would dart by. We would show our catches off and then slip them back into the creek so we could use our jar to catch fireflies. Sometimes we would spy a blue-tailed lizard and take chase. I don’t recall ever catching one and I honestly don’t know what I would have done if I had caught one; probably immediately drop it!

While revisiting my grandparents, I would ask them all of the questions that I never realized that I had while they lived. I would ask Grandpa about his family. I would get him to open his trunk and tell me who all of the folks in the photos were. I would ask him if the picture or two that we think are of his dad Billy really are Billy. I would ask him who Eula was. I would ask Grandma what her favorite color was, how she came to meet Grandpa, what her happiest moments were. Mostly, I would hug them and tell them how very much I love them.

I would sit on the front porch upon woven-bottomed, straight-back chairs with Grandma, Grandpa, my children, my granddaughter and my niece. Grandma would likely be rocking a jar filled with cream over her knee and Grandpa would likely be shaving curls of aromatic cedar from his whittling stick. We would listen to the music of a cooling rain on the tin of the porch roof and as the mist began to rise from the hillsides in front of us, my children, my granddaughter, and my niece could hear from my grandpa about how when the mists hang in the hills, his giant friend that lives there is smoking his pipe.

Perhaps, they would be terribly bored to go with me on my trip back to see Grandpa and Grandma, but I hope that for the short time of our visit, they could step away from the busyness and distractions of today, deeply breathe in fresh air full of the scent of rich earth and just enjoy the simple lives of simple, but oh such very special people that were their great and great-great grandparents. I hope that they could understand what truly strong and loving folks they come from! 

I would also hope that Grandpa and Grandma would meet their great-grandchildren and great-great-granddaughter  and could understand what truly strong, loving folks have resulted from their union! Our strong roots have resulted in some strong, beautiful, empathetic and loving branches!

 

 

Ancestor Potential

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This is not a story about my newest ancestor find. I like to remind folks to record their lives today because today is tomorrow’s past! So rather than recording a recent ancestor find, this is a story about a more “recent” potential ancestor in my family. It is a story about my granddaughter Jooniebug who will be three in November and one day, she may truly be a future descendent's ancestor find!

When Roxanna became pregnant with Harper Jooniebug McCommon, we were all reluctant to be happy. You see, Roxanna and Jeremy had lost a baby soon after they were married just shortly after learning they were pregnant. Roxanna experienced complications early on with Jooniebug. We did not want to get too involved with happiness because we feared that we would lose our Jooniebug and our happiness. And we all prayed for our baby’s health and safety.

Sometime early on in her pregnancy though, Roxanna saw a beautiful little bird’s nest in a bush in their yard. The next day, there was a beautiful little blue egg in that nest. The next day there were three; the next there were four!
That robin’s nest was a nest like an untold number of other robin’s nests. It had no claim to fame. Daddy and Mommy Robin were not little robin celebrities. Their nest was made of small twigs and was not made of spun gold.
That robin nest in the tree in Roxanna’s yard was special though. It was special because it was a robin’s nest in a bush in Roxanna’s yard. It was not in the neighbor’s yard. It wasn’t even in a bush in Roxanna’s yard back hidden in the corner. It was almost right outside her door. It was a nest that she noticed. It was a nest that held the potential for life at the same time she held the same and it was in her yard where she would notice it! And in our minds, that normal little robin nest became a sign from God that we need not worry. He had this!
Roxanna had a few scares during the early months of her pregnancy. She became worried and frightened. Each time she did, I would remind her that God does not give robin’s nests to just everyone! Our baby was gonna be fine! That normal, robin’s nest had become a sign of hope!




                                                   



                                                    

                                                   

                                                     


   



Our beautiful and perfect Jooniebug was due on the 16th of November but she debuted a few days later. She had to be in the NICU for a few days but she went home on a Thanksgiving day that was truly a day for thanksgiving!




                                                    



When we had visited my daughter’s family after Jooniebug’s birth, the camellia bush that had served as a source of hope was filled with beautiful blossoms. It was nearly December and despite cooler temperatures, this bush was filled with beauty. I took those blossoms as a further sign of hope. In spite of the “cooler temperatures” that life will send her way, my Jooniebug will blossom, persevere, or as her great-great-uncle Olen, forever the Marine might say, “adapt and overcome”!


                                                   



Speaking of Uncle Olen, my Uncle Olen has welcomed the births of nieces, nephews, great-nieces, great-nephews, great-great-nieces, and great-great-nephews. I have never seen him react to a family addition as much as he has to Jooniebug. When my Uncle Olen heard that Jooniebug was due in November, he swore that she would be born on November 10th, the Marine Corps' birthday. He fought in Viet Nam as a Marine and “once a Marine, always a Marine” is his motto. Even when she was born several days after the 10th, he says that her “real” birthday is November 10th but she can celebrate two birthdays. He has only been able to actually see her once but is completely enamored of his “Little Jarhead” and swears that she will grow up to become the first female Commandant of the Marines. I just cannot figure out why Uncle Olen has taken so much with Jooniebug; I guess it is the fact that she was born in the Marine Corps’ birthday month. I don’t know why but this big ol’ Marine is totally wrapped around Jooniebug’s little finger. He isn’t the only one either!


                                                 



Since Uncle Olen is always calling Jooniebug his little Commandant Jarhead, I took a couple of photos of her for him as a little Marine. I got some edits in a Facebook group to make it look a bit more "official".





                                          



I sent Uncle Olen a copy and he had it photoshopped even more and sent me a copy.



                                           




                                                      

                                                        Another photo of the Commandant.

The first time Jooniebug went to her new preschool, her mother took a photo of her as she entered the school. My mom and I think that she looked just like the Marine Commandant inspecting the barracks. I asked the same Facebook group to photoshop it to make it look like she was really inspecting her troops so I could send it to Uncle Olen! Someone kindly made a great picture of the Little Commandant.




                                                     

                                                            


I made a little quilted collage picture for Uncle Olen also. It is supposed to represent Jooniebug saluting her great-great-uncle Olen. I didn’t put Uncle Olen in full profile to hint at how far she has to look up to him, but also so that he could represent all Marines, past, present and future.




                                                    



So God willing, this little girl who has so many folks enamored of her will one day grow up to have a family of her own. Even if she should choose not to become the first female Commandant of the Marine Corps, I am certain that she is destined for great things. I imagine generations of her descendants telling stories of their grand, great, great-great, great-great-great… whatever grandmother Jooniebug. I can imagine them regaling over the many things that she will accomplish in her lifetime and being proud to descend from a woman such as she will surely become.

Who knows, perhaps they will even happen upon this story and think about the big strong Marine who was so totally enamored of their grandma, his Little Commandant Jarhead!