Traveling The Back Roads Of My Childhood Memories

  At the suggestion of my sister we decided to visit our soon to be one hundred year old aunt who had fallen and broken her hip.  In spite of the obvious statistical probability of a poor outcome…she came through the surgery fine. 

So, we set off on a trip to the land of my ancestors, Hessmer, Louisiana…the land of swamps, rice fields and bad roads.  Aunt Vivian, my father’s youngest sister, was so glad to see us, so gracious, so warm, so welcoming but she had no idea who we were.  Time had erased her memory.  Our visits were short as she tired quickly.  The fact that she had no clue who we were made it difficult to carry on a conversation.  Even a conversation of days gone by challenged Aunt V’s memory.  She could not remember her brother, my father, or even her own son.  But when we recited the Rosary she never missed one word…not one prayer did she forget.  

  Between several short visits we went about looking at the old houses of our grandparents, aunts and uncles recalling fond memories of the days of my childhood.  

  We poked around in the cemetery digging up recollections of all those relatives with all the different personalities, quirks and idiosyncrasies.

We wondered about the people and events of the past wishing we had asked more questions back then.  And now there is no one around to give us the answers.

  We had questions about Aunt “Zoe”, Uncle Dennis, Momma’s house and lots of questions about Papa.  Papa, my dad’s dad, my grandfather, Papa Sam the man we didn’t know and no one talked about.  I always wondered if he was some sort of government secret agent. And now we’ll never know.

  And then on to Crowley, LA, my mother’s side of the family, the home of Grandpa, Grandma and Aunt T.  For my entire childhood I thought her name was “T” only to find out they were saying “Auntie”.  Her real name was Ophelia. 

Anyway we toured the cemetery and checked out the headstones.  We drove past the old boarded up appliance store (214 2^ndSt) grandpa used to own and (2nd and N Ave) where Auntie's house used to be. Sadly her house had burned to the ground some years ago.  We meandered passed the Rice Hotel, no longer in operation, but the sign still announcing it’s existence.  Aunt Ophelia worked there as the switchboard operator as long as I can remember.

  Traveling the back roads of my childhood memories is always an introspective journey.  Now I’m the one approaching the end of the road and wondering if I should leave some sort of bread crumb trail, some documentation, something more than a patronizing tombstone epitaph. Possibly some of my descendants might have questions. 

Hessmer, LA

Papa 

Auntie

214 2nd Street

Grandma & Grandpa