Post #150 – Women’s Memoirs, Writing Prompt – Kendra Bonnett and Matilda Butler
Memorial Day Memories
Although I should be thinking of ways to honor those who have given their lives for the freedoms of this nation, Memorial Day memories turn in other directions for me. As a child, Memorial Day was a big deal. No, not shopping. No special sales at the mall. We didn’t even have a mall.
Instead, the swimming pools opened on Memorial Day and what kid doesn’t think that’s special. Although my parents rarely let me go swimming that day since the pools were always crowded, at least I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d pull on the tightly elasticized one-piece swimsuit, tuck my hair into a white swim cap, and walk down the steps of the local pool. Yes, I was too chicken to jump in. I always made my way slowly, adjusting to the cold water.
My stronger memory is that of going to Memorial Park Cemetery with my father. Because members of my father’s family were buried there, he and I were the two who usually went. My mother felt her responsibility began and ended with cutting flowers from her garden, often sweet smelling magnolia blossoms with an ample supply of their hardy leaves that outlasted everything else. The car filled with their fragrance as we made our way northward to the cemetery. To a child, it seemed like a long comfortable distance with a chance to talk with my father.
When we turned into the winding cemetery drive, I never failed to notice the red brick and dark molten rock fence that stretched across the front of the large cemetery. My father always knew exactly how to get to the Butler plot although now, when I return there, I have to drive around a bit, getting my bearings. I still remember the year that I had the shock of seeing my grandmother’s headstone with my name on it. Well, almost my name. It said Harriet Matilda Butler, and I was Matilda Butler. Everyone called my grandmother Tillie and while I knew we shared a name, it was still a shock to see Matilda Butler carved into granite. I’d just graduated from high school and had my first glimpse of mortality that day.
But as a child, the trip to the cemetery was a chance to hear stories. My father was a great storyteller. As we tended each grave, he would talk about his childhood in a family that included six other brothers as well as two male cousins all living in the same small house. I always loved the description of the time he had a rock in his mouth and a brother slapped him hard on the back causing him to swallow it. Clearly the rock was small, but in my mind it got bigger with each retelling. Another story that horrified yet intrigued me was that of a little girl in his small town who died and was laid out on the family table until her parents could “come collect her.”
Now my father and mother are in the same cemetery, not too far from other relatives. Although I go there with a certain sadness, I still recall how my father managed to make it a time of celebration and love.
A time to remember.
Memoir Writing Prompts: A Day for Memories
1. Did you have any traditions associated with Memorial Day when you were a child? Write about one or more for 10 minutes. But before you start, close you eyes, open all your other senses. Think through one specific time. Then write.
2. Did you have any Memorial Day traditions with your children? If so, write about them.
