Memories are made of grandma, grandpa, and a red bike

A TV special sparked memories from long ago. The subject was what we miss most about childhood. Until you delve into it, it may seem to be a pretty stupid question. What do we all miss? The obvious answers are our parents, youth, and being free of such adult responsibilities as paying the house insurance and filing income taxes, both of which spoiled last week for me.

It's not a challenge for seniors to ponder their childhoods. We can remember way back and recall minute details, but if asked about last week, we may stumble. That's just a part of aging, a word that I believe is overplayed. After you reach a certain age, just about anything that happens in your life, be it an aching back, calluses, or thinning eyebrows, brings the same response. “It's your age.”

I hate that. I refuse to let age catch up with me. Instead I embrace it in a lifestyle that is rich with interests, friends, and too many activities. Often tired, yes, but so what? A friend I had not talked to in several months called last week from Florida. She always says the same thing about getting together soon, often adding, because “we are not getting any younger and the years go quickly,” ending with “You just never know.”

True, but there are so many other things to worry about. One worry is wondering if the hostas survived under the snow and cold earth and are getting ready for spring. Should the geraniums and begonias that are in full bloom and climbing up the sun porch windows be cut back or allowed to add color and joy for another month? Another concern is about Gladys, my 1991 car. Should I donate her to a worthy cause this spring, or treat her to a new battery and shampoo and take her to town, as we say here in the country?

Getting back to the subject of childhood misses, going to town with Grandma Perkins is a favorite memory of mine. We only went as far as Rome Center, Mich., about eight miles from her farm home, but the fact that she drove her own car showed her will to keep up with the times despite opposition. Grandpa Perkins was content to work their three farms with horses, and he refused to have a tractor and modern equipment. But grandma was my kind of woman. She drove her model A Ford like a trooper to sell eggs at the Rome Country Store. She also ignored her husband's wishes when she had the house wired for electricity and bought a refrigerator. That was a big day on the farm and the day I would like to re-live. Two items in my home are symbolic of that time. One is the lantern grandpa carried to the barn for 50 years. The other is a kerosene lamp grandma put away when the lights came on.

I miss my bicycle and the carefree days of riding it up and down the streets of Adrian to the ice cream store, to the parks, to meet a boyfriend on the Raisin River Bridge, and to my aunts' home for a bowl of homemade potato soup. I will never forget seeing that red bike by the Christmas tree. I was so excited that despite mother's warning I immediately went for a ride. Both bike and I fell on the ice. I recovered, but the bent frame on the bike could never be straightened.

I miss the warm friendships made with the tenants in the rooming house where I grew up, their stories while we were sitting on the front porch in summer, and just being with such a fascinating mix of people from many walks of life. I am sure I learned from them. People who think I was deprived living in three rooms with my mother in our big house are wrong, except for having to share the bath. That is probably why I still get up very early — to be sure I get my share of hot water.

What I don't miss, and never will, is being cold and wet in Michigan winters and standing on the heat register to get warm. I hated walking two miles to school and the long cotton stockings worn under unlined wool snow pants that chapped my legs. I had to live with that, but when it was time to help take the frozen washing off the clothesline and hang it on chairs in the house to dry, I always had homework to do.

But, then as now, soon the buds on the maple trees showed promise of spring. Grandma took the car out of the shed. Grandpa began plowing for spring planting, and the tenants gathered on the porch to solve the problems of the world. What was not to miss then?

Mary Alice Powell is a retired Blade food editor.

Contact her at: mpowell@theblade.com.