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A FAMILY SECRET by Herbert H. Sanders  One of the most vivid memories of my young years is the Sunday meals at my grandmother and grandfather’s house. All of the girls were fantastic cooks and all wanted to show off their talents. The house smelled like Thanksgiving every Sunday. After the meal was over and the dishes were washed, it was time for visiting and the kids were excused to play in the yard until the noise level got so loud it was interfering with the talk in the house. That was usually a signal that it was time to go. All pots and pans and dishes had to be gathered and picked up by their owner. Goodbyes were said and plans were made for next Sunday. On the way home Dad sometimes took Mother home, and then he and I would go into the black area of Oak Cliff to see an old black lady. She was nearly always sitting in a swing on the front porch seeming to be waiting for us. Her name was Flo and I was in love with her. She laughed all of the time, and she was so big that she laughed all over. She always got out of the swing and gave Dad and me a big hug. There were goodies always available and Flo smelled just like what she had been cooking. When it was time to go, she always had a bag of something for Mother. Sometimes Dad would hand her an envelope as we were leaving and she would give him another hug. I wondered what was in that envelope, but I was too shy to ask. Some years later, one Sunday morning we were dressed for church but did not go to our church. I realized we were in the neighborhood of Flo’s house. We went by her house and did not stop. We went around the corner and stopped behind a lot of cars in front of a small church. When we reached the door, two black men shook hands with Mother and Dad and then led us down the aisle to front seats. After we were seated, Mother explained to me that Flo had died and this was her funeral service. 113 I had been to one funeral not too long before (PaPa, Dad’s dad). This one was nothing like his. There was singing and dancing , and they called it a celebration. I loved every minute of it and thought it was so happy, like Flo. The preacher met us after the celebration and took my hand and shook it just as he did Mother and Dad’s. He told me Flo had talked a lot about me and how she was proud of me. On the way home it came to me that Flo was no longer with us. She was gone like PaPa and the little dog I had forever that got hit by a fire truck. A few days after the funeral when Dad got home he looked me up and asked if I had anything to do after dinner. I told him I had already done homework and had no other plans. He said, “Stick around then. I have to tell you a story.” My mind was running away. What have I done now? After dinner he came into my room and sat at my desk. He told me to get comfortable because this was a long story. When he was nine years old his mother was diagnosed with cancer. PaPa was going to need help because Grandmother could not handle the chores she was used to doing. The two older sisters were in school in Virginia and he did not want to take them out and cause them to miss a semester. He had talked to Aunt Betty and she had agreed to let him hire a black couple from her. This was a good arrangement because Flo, the lady, had cared for Grandmother until she had gone off to school. Jessie, her husband , was a top hand on the farm and could relieve PaPa of some of his work so he could be with Grandmother. PaPa thought this was such a good idea he hired another black man to help Jessie and he had even more free time. As time went by Grandmother became weaker and weaker. PaPa spent most of his time with Grandmother. He wanted to take her to the Methodist hospital in Oak Cliff...

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