Grandpa and Grandma had a pair of sturdy oak rockers, Grandpa's slightly larger than hers. Grandma took the rockers with her to town, but she began using Grandpa's larger rocker, leaving the smaller one for company. When I think of my Grandma Powell, I see her on her front porch--clear and distant, not foggy like Grandpa-- in that rocker, her hands busy with her crochet work, watching the world roll past her door.

She tried to be self-reliant, but sometimes, when she was sick or things went wrong, she had to call for help. She usually called her other two sons first, and then Daddy, but he always went to her aid. He never expected any payment and would not have accepted any, but he sure did want those rockers. He was independent and stubborn, like her, so he never asked.

Grandma sat in Grandpa's rocker eighteen years, till May '72. Daddy wondered who would get the rockers. He wouldn't ask but, he sure did want those rockers.

My brother Clayton and I slipped away to town. Grandma's front door was locked, but we knew another unsecured entrance from years of staying overnight. "I'll leave the hall door unlocked," she'd say. We slipped in the back way, down the long, dark hallway into her apartment and carried the rockers out to Daddy's pickup. If there was ever any resentment from his brothers and sisters over the rockers, we never heard of it.

Daddy sat in Grandpa's rocker sixteen years. After his death, Mama followed Grandma's example and switched to Grandpa's more spacious rocker, leaving the smaller one for company.

In her widowhood Mama needed lots of help. Unlike Grandma, she didn't hesitate to ask. She played no favorites, spreading the requests over all seven children, but Clayton and I lived closest, so most of this fell on us. I got the place and Clayton got the house for doing our duty with our mother. I wouldn't have asked for more, but I sure did want those rockers. Before she died Mama gave me Grandma's Company Rocker.

Mama sat in Grandpa's rocker four years. Now Clayton has it, up the road about 200 yards in "the house that Daddy built." If there was ever any resentment from our brothers and sisters over the rockers, we never heard of it. In my old age I'll sit on my front porch in Grandma's rocker, piecing quilts for my great grandchildren and watching the world roll by....

....But, Brother, I warn you, I'm coming. When your days in Grandpa's rocker are done, I'm coming, in the dead of night, in through the back door, to the kitchen, into the dark living room of Daddy's house, and Grandpa's rocker will join it's mate on my porch. I'll rock my days away, and the great grandkids can play in the Company Rocker.

Olley, Olley Oxen Free.

Copyright © 1996 Fleta Aday