At the end of 2015 I am sitting thinking, ruminating on family. Family traditions, family time together and looking at the imprint it’s left in and on me…As I feel my way through the corridors of my heart I wonder why with all going on in life this comes to me.
The thing that comes to mind is Watermelon and Pepsi.
The Kennon family had a summer ritual, as much a part of our growing up as the fierce thunderstorms that blew in and cooled the late August afternoons. For us it was watermelon and Pepsi at Grandmother and Granddaddy’s house. As if following some unspoken call, all of the aunts, uncles and cousins descended on the Kennon home in Greensboro, like seagulls following a fishing boat. It would be the hell’s hottest time of year, hence the menu. Down south we would get up to 100 degrees with what felt like 300 percent humidity! The knives for the melons could have also cut through the thick summer air that clung to us like a sap from a old North Carolina pine! Like Santa making a delivery on Christmas Eve, Granddaddy would show up in his old ‘57 pickup with enough watermelons to sink a canoe.
Out would come the folding tables and chairs, and the adults each took charge of a piece of the chaos, giving orders with the fervor of a Baptist preacher, to whomever would listen. No 1st grade teacher could be more proud of the results, as order was wrested from the frenetic activity. Cousins spread the tablecloths, the melons were set up ready to carve, and Grandmother would climb back up the cinderblock cellar steps with cartons of Pepsi cola. Granddaddy had retired from the Pepsi cola plant, and still got the ‘throw always’ for free. These were the drinks that didn’t always get filled up, or something was ‘wrong’ that it wouldn’t be good enough to sell but it was good enough for us.
The Aunts set out cups of ice and with ‘pops’ and ‘fizzes’ poured Pepsi over the crackling cubes while our thirsty throats, parched from the summer’s heat, ached for our drinks.
I wouldn’t say it was religious in anyway, but we had distinct denominations of melon cutting preferences. There was the ‘standard’ method, preferred by the cousins; cutting the oval melon into two shorter halves, and then cutting each half into long ‘banana split’ style quarters. The diehard melon eaters just dove into those long quarters with juice rolling down their faces. For those of a slightly more delicate disposition the long quarters could be sliced into small pie shaped pieces, that could be eaten without involving both cheeks and possibly your ears. Even with those small slices of heaven, the red juice would roll down your face as the heat gave itself up to the evening breeze.
Only adults used the ‘fork’ method… putting a pie shaped piece on their plate and using a fork to take civilized bites while they listened or spoke. Some used fingers to pick up smaller pieces and ‘nibble’. Those with a little more zest used the juicier methods I described above. I never understood it as a kid, but I saw my grandparents more then once bring out the salt and shake a little out on each piece.
It didn’t take long for the kids to fill up on Pepsi and watermelon. Long after we were finished, aunts, uncles, parents, and grandparents lingered over the melons and Pepsi talking ‘adult’ talk. 
For us it was off to play ‘hide and seek’ with the cousins. Grandma and Granddaddy had the largest pine tree in the world in their side yard. It was an aggressive one too. It if you touched it you ALWAYS came away with sticky sap stuck on you and it NEVER came off without getting on something else. Between the sap, sweat, grass and dirt we would end up being a messy motley bunch in no time at all.
My grandparents also grew Sunflowers. Not the little ‘gentle’ ones you see on the side of the road but giant 12 foot tall ones. They would grow 20 to 30 at a time with stalks over an inch thick at the base. It was a southern, summer sunflower jungle to hide in, and we loved it.
I remember one time, when the sun had set and we kids were running around the outside of the house like commandos, we noticed the adults looking up, pointing at a red light off in the distance sky. There was talk of UFO’s which we all ‘loved’ and also had a little internal ‘freak out’ about.
The evenings would end with everyone chipping it to help clean up and then with goodbyes shared, we’d pack into our cars and drive home.
Grandmother passed on years before her time, while Granddaddy lived a long life. The aunts, uncles, and cousins have grown and flown like dandelion seeds from the backyard, floating away on a fall breeze.
I was in Greensboro 3 weeks ago. The old house still stands but everything seems much ‘smaller’ and none of the ‘glory’ I felt as a child lingers there. The ghosts of the past might drift by from time to time, but the location no longer holds them.
There’s a bitter sweetness to that. Those long gone days have been imbedded deep within my marrow – in the very bones of my heart and soul.
As I look at the memories created in 2015, I wish for each of you that the gifts of your past are held close in your heart, as you move on like those dandelion seeds riding the winds of life, and that 2016 brings with it the chance to build those memories that continue to shape who we are.
Peace and Blessings on your Journey.
(By the way, Elizabeth Love helped me write this post) She is such an artist with words).
