Grandma and Grandpa...How could you ever forget them?

Most of my readers have a lot of time on their hands.

They certainly have the time to shuffle up to the table, enjoy a cup of coffee, and watch the roses bloom out on the patio. If they're lucky, they might have a chance to play ball with their grandchild, check out a movie with the little critter or just hang out with them and watch them pound the keys on a computer, while you sit there and watch in amazement. I recall my own grandfather, who I spent time with (but not nearly enough) when I was seven years old. My grandfather and grandmother owned forty acres of land,  just outside of Little Rock, Arkansas, in a town called Jacksonville.

 It is ironic that all these years later, I would have a book available on Amazon.com/kindle entitled Billy's Victory, in which the main character, Billy Ray Reynolds, played baseball and bicycled his way around a fictitious town called, Johnsonville.

My grandfather would take me on a Sunday morning walk, down a crooked path, just east of the farm house, and eventually onto the railroad track, which led directly into Jacksonville. It didn't take long, maybe forty-five minutes, and we'd end up at the local hardware store, sitting outside, with our feet propped up, while we gabbed away with a bunch of old timers about the price of corn. We'd then wander over to the grocery store and Grandpa would buy me a couple of sugar cookies. Of course, that would make my day.

I'm sure most of my readers have similar stories. It doesn't hurt to revisit them once in awhile. I remember the first shotgun that my Grandpa handed me. It was a 28-gauge nickel-plated, piece of work. My goodness the squirrels could see me coming for miles. Unfortunately, I don't have the gun anymore, too bad. But I certainly have the memories. My mother told me a story about my grandpa and his love for baseball. Back in the 1940s, he was playing on an old timers team.

Grandpa and the team took on the local high school team in a sandlot game. Grandpa's team won. My mother said that her father wanted to pursue a baseball career, but he just couldn't leave his roots and his hometown. As I think back, I can now understand why.