The Red Flannel Rag

Grandma Molly was a character filled with contradictions, and she was always a

bit of a mystery to me. I heard stories about her being somewhat promiscuous, as a

younger woman and that possibly some of her children d idn’t belong to Grandpa Austin.

I knew most of them did belong to him because they were the “spittin’ image” of him. I

simply could not picture Grandma Molly as a sexual being much less a run around. I

never witnessed any indication that she and Grandpa Austin were married, in love, or

had ever had sexual interest in each other except their ten children, of course. She never

called him by name, and he never called her by name. There were no kisses, hugs,

handholding, or pats. At the same time, there was no indication that they were mean to

each other until Grandpa Austin was on his deathbed. Then they fought each other.

When she tried to give him a bath or brought his food to him, he twisted her arms and

pinched her until she bled. He threw his food at her, so she started putting his bird-egg

beans, bread, and peaches in a tin cup with a handle so she could hang onto it. She

often whipped him with a wooden paddle until he gave up and let her care for him, but

she and Aunt Lena were determined to care for him at home.

There were no toys at her house for the grandchildren. We had a choice after

Sunday dinner of getting out of the house and finding something to fill the time or

sitting in the living room with Grandma Molly, Aunt Lena, and Grandpa Austin. Their

living room was not the best choice. Each had a rocking chair. There were two or three

other rocking chairs for visitors. The chairs faced different directions in the room, and

they all rocked at the same time. Crickity crick, crickity crick, crickity crick — was the

hypnotizing noise that came from each chair as the rockers rolled over the linoleum

floor.

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