A Weekend at Papa Mac's
by Ellie Bond
Whenever I stroll past an antique wicker rocking chair, my mind becomes saturated with thoughts of a weekend at my Papa Mac’s house.
As our car pulls in the driveway, the enormous pine trees swaying in the breeze seem to say, “Welcome home!” The wicker rocking chairs on the multi-colored brick porch beckon me to sit for a while. Refusing the urge to bask in the warm sunlight, I meander over to the old screen door. Sweet aromas tickle my senses as I briskly walk inside. My grandfather, a charming 85-year-old man with a salt-and-pepper mustache, welcomes me with a huge bear hug. Smooth jazz wafts through the Bose speakers as Papa Mac bustles around the kitchen preparing my feast. The somewhat musty smell of the house is soon overpowered by the scent of freshly fried chicken, expertly whipped mashed potatoes, and garden fresh butterbeans. Meanwhile, the sun streaming through the plate glass window makes the curtain shadows dance across the living room floor. After we sit down to enjoy dinner, the dinging of the oven timer reminds us that a homemade sweet potato pie will conclude our meal. Next, we retire to the living room: Papa Mac to his green, shaggy recliner and me to a comfy, crocheted blanket on the floor. Because it is a Saturday night, I am forced to endure the sounds of knocking helmets and thudding shoulder pads as Papa Mac cheers on his favorite college football team on NBC Sports. Although the game is exciting, Papa Mac soon drifts into a snore-filled slumber. “Papa, go to bed.” I growl. Then the amusement begins. Papa throws his arms over his head, raises his feet in the air and gently rocks back and forth to the count of three, trying to work up enough momentum to launch his body out of the creaky chair. As a result of this spectacle, I am forced to suppress uncontrollable giggles. We mosey down the long hallway back to the bedrooms, where I know freshly washed, cotton sheets await my arrival. The thought of the next morning’s pancakes drenched in thick, sweet ribbon cane syrup makes me fall fast asleep.
Vivid memories of childhood are made at Papa’s house, where I always feel safe, loved, and welcome. My greatest wish is for Papa Mac to be around for my children to experience the warmth of his home.
