Ironing Time

By Cayce B. Shelton

Like all children that have grandparents close to the parents, my brother and I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. Of course, my age at the time of this incident was about five years old, seeing as how I was aware of my surroundings and my living brother, two years my junior, was old enough not to need constant attention.

The time of this incident between my Grandfather and his wife, my Grandmother, was before World War Two and even before Pearl Harbor, a time when hobos still came off trains that passed close to the house. The old people always shared what they had, even to the point that we didn't have enough left to eat ourselves sometime. Of course, Grandpa was better off than any of those poor men that I watched coming across the fields. I was scared sometimes, but Grandpa and Granny soon taught me not to be afraid.

The day was hot with no wind blowing across the Texas fields. Granny was ironing clothes on a very rickety wooden framed ironing board with cast iron irons that I had to run between her and the stove where they were heated. During the time between my iron trips, I would sit under the rickety ironing board, for I remember I enjoyed listening to the creaks of the wood as Granny ironed and sang.

As the sun sank from overhead to pour its golden rays right into the hallway where we were, Grandpa came home. As Granny said, "Grandpa's home," I got up and went to the screen door to watch him park the car and come to the door. I know now I worshiped my Grandfather, even if he was the hardest man I ever knew.

Well, Grandpa didn't park the car. The slick looking Ford Touring car with the canvas top rolled slowly across the sand and grass in front of the house to finally bump up against a large oak tree. I watched Grandpa open the car door and turn to step out. I remember I gasped when he fell down getting sand all over his suit. As he tried to get up while trying to put his gray felt hat back on his head, I spoke to Granny without turning around, "Grandpa's drunk, Granny." She just kept singing and ironing.

Knowing even at my age how Grandpa could act when he was drunk, I quickly hurried to get under the ironing board as Grandpa came across the yard, cussing. I saw him stagger onto the porch and open the screen door. As he stepped into the hall, he spoke to Granny. Granny kept singing as Grandpa stepped closer.

I really don't remember much of what was said, but I do remember Grandpa saying, "You shut your mouth, woman, or I'll shut it for you."

Before Grandpa had uttered the last word, Granny was moving. I have to remember that this time was many years before she became invalid from the hips down.

As Grandpa stood there with that fierce half-breed snarling Indian face, Granny grabbed hold of the ironing board, really only a 1 inch by twelve inch board about five feet long on one inch square legs. As the ironing board came off the floor, a shirt and a warm cast iron block fell to the floor near me, scaring me even more than Grandpa did.

I watched in horror as Granny swung the cloth covered board up over her head and took two steps toward Grandpa. He just stood there with that glassy eyed fierce look on his face as the long board in Granny's hands arced above their heads. Whap, the broad side of the ironing board hit Grandpa across the head. Down he went like a felled ox.

As blood appeared in a thin line running down across Grandpa's face, Granny's attitude changed. As fast as she could move, she fell down beside Grandpa and scooped him up in her arms. I can still remember what happened and what she said.

"Oh, Snooks, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Oh, honey, speak to me." All this time she was kissing Grandpa on the face, getting blood all over her face also. Then, as she lifted Grandpa off the floor and carried him through a doorway to a bedroom, she hollered at me, "Son, go get a wet washrag, not too wet. Hurry, he's bleeding."

Boy, did I run. When I got the damp rag to Granny, she had laid Grandpa on the bed, neatly, and was sitting next to him crying. I felt so bad for her that I left the room and closed the door behind me.