My Childhood Memories of Grandmother

Scientists say our sense of smell is the most closely related sensation of memory. I have no choice but to agree. With just a little freshly brewed coffee, I can return to my childhood. Yes, my olfaction is better than the H.G. Wells time machine. For the time being I sat comfortably in the outskirts of the Midwest; the next moment I was sitting in the kitchen at the grandmother Randall House in Tampa, Florida. Like most Southern beauties, Grandma Randall is a wonderful chef and a better cook.

Every year in my childhood my family drives my hometown from the country house in New Hampshire to Harlem to visit my grandmother. The earliest memories of my shame on one of these trips are so disappointing that I have never written or talked about this story. I was sitting behind the car at home with my older brother. My father left New York to go to the mountain to find a job 10 years ago when I was born I just left Henry Hudson Avenue to 125 chome. When we arrived at his childhood home, his attitude has always changed. His shoulder relaxed and he took his hand from the wheel. We stopped at the end of the exit ramp and later became a waterway to Martin Luther King Jr. I am 5 or 6 years old. I started to say "1, 2, 3, 4 ..." aloud.

I was only eight years old when my grandfather (please call him Fred) leaves my grandmother. Since childhood, I have some memories about him, and most of them are very good. After divorce, he moved to Arizona and married his mistress. During the rest of my childhood days, I met him on average on an annual basis. Since I left my parents house in the late 1990s, I can count the number of times I saw him. He does not seem to be interested in what happened in my life. This is very confusing for me, as my grandfather showed infinite emotions and love to me. He participated in all the sports events I participated (although I apparently lacked similar sports skills), I drew himself into his alma mater's football game searching for me. I'm interested. I miss him yet (he died six years ago)