From the time that I was very young, up to the time that I turned 13 or so, every Sunday after church, without fail, my family and I would go to my grandparent’s house for Sunday lunch. These were my Mom’s parents.  Joining us would be my Mom’s sisters (my aunts of course), uncles, and cousins.  My two older brothers Mike & Rocky ( from my mom’s first marriage) lived there with my grandparents. [How odd that I didn’t think that was odd] – but that’s another story for another day.

My grandmother’s name was Vera but we called her Verie, pronounced “Vur-ee”. Why did we call her that? I have no idea.

Verie was a hard nut to crack – and I’m not sure anyone ever did. She didn’t smile very much. She always seemed to have a worried look on her face. I was never close to her.  Even in my early years I can’t recall any special times with her. She seemed distant. And tired.

But that’s just from a young girl’s recollection. Who knows what the story was behind her faded smile and the worn facade.

While Verie prepared Sunday lunch, the adults would sit around the kitchen table and talk. The chatter of women and the low tones of men could be heard throughout the house. The aroma of food cooking on the stove, steaming cups of coffee, and the spiral of cigarette smoke billowing over the kitchen table stays with me.

And in that kitchen was a hutch. And on that hutch was a candy jar. A white candy jar. The contents were never known until the lid was taken off. Sometimes it was hard candy, other times, butter mints. Gumdrops were a frequent occupant, while at Christmas, horehound candy might be there (never a favorite of mine).

My sister Terri and I always looked forward to our weekly visits because our cousins (Barry, Lisa, and Tracy) would always be there. They were close in age to us – and so much fun!

Our cousins were everything we weren’t. They were daring, adventurous, bold, and, well, truth be told, we thought they were a bit on the wild side.

Growing up, their parents opted to let our cousins have far more freedom than Terri and I were allowed. They played freely outside without supervision. They owned pocket knives, climbed trees, and rode bicycles on the street. There was a creek behind their house where they were allowed to explore without the omnipresence of their mom.

Terri and I, on the other hand, had a Mother that worried a lot – about everything. My Daddy used to tell her that she would worry if she didn’t have something to worry about. Her mind worked overtime finding things to worry about. This spilled over into her parenting.

Were we going to get hurt? Lost? Sick?

In turn, in our early years, Terri and I were kept on a pretty short leash. We weren’t given carte blanche of the neighborhood. Our adventures stayed within the confines of a few doors down. Our rural road didn’t permit riding a bicycle safely. And forget about us getting near anything that resembled a sharp knife.

And comes the candy jar.

On one particular Sunday, one of the cousins decided that we should go in the kitchen one by one and sneak a pre-lunch piece of candy.  I couldn’t imagine being so bold as to attempt to smuggle candy right in front of the adults! I played by the rules after all. Or was I just chicken?

Barry, the eldest of the cousins was the first to make the attempt. The rest of us huddled behind a doorway and anxiously watched as he nonchalantly walked past the adults, to the hutch, went straight for the candy jar, opened the lid and pulled out a piece of candy! Not an adult in the room seemed to notice.

Barry came back proudly with his prize and dared the next one in.

One by one each cousin and then my sister came back with a piece of candy without fanfare. What?

And then it was my turn. The last man standing…. without a piece of candy.

Doing my best to stay calm and look as nonchalant as my predecessors, I walked into the kitchen and slowly made my way to the candy jar. And just as my hand touched the lid, one of the adults (I can’t remember which one), called me out.

“Now that’s enough! No candy before lunch!”

Oh my God, I was busted! And oh so embarrassed! As I was turning around to face the adults, Verie chimed in.

“No”, she says, “All of the other kids have gotten a piece of candy. Y’all know that. It’s not going to stop with Cathy.”

Wow! 

So the adults had seen it all. One by one as each kid made their way to and from the candy jar. Hmmm. 

But why call me out?

I think I must’ve been someone’s breaking point, when the infractions had to stop. As a parent now, I kind of see how it could happen. 

But Verie came to my defense and rectified the situation.

I walked away with my piece of candy, just as everyone else had.

Verie  became my hero of the day. 

                                                ˜˜˜˜        

Years came and went.  My brothers grew up and moved away. The cousins relocated to Florida. On those Sundays following, my grandparent’s house became oddly and uncomfortably quiet. Almost sad.

Eventually, my visits dwindled to almost nothing. Tradition had run its course, and time marched on.

But I never forgot the lesson that Verie taught me that day.

What’s good for one, is good for everybody. So be careful what you allow to happen the first time – you very well may have set a precedence that you might have a hard time undoing.

Also, don’t be the last one going for that piece of candy.

Stay sweet,

Cat