Every morning Grandpa would make biscuits to go with breakfast. He'd always be sure to make too many so there would be lots left over. Then, all day long we'd come in from playing in the hot Texas sun and eat a cold biscuit with the peanut butter and syrup he'd mixed up just for us. There's no better way to eat a biscuit.
The older I get, the more my Dad reminds me of Grandpa. He has the same crazy, fly-away eyebrows his father did. And, just like his Dad, he loves to fill your belly or stock your fridge. He listens to and enjoys Sloane in the same way his father listened to all of us. Like my grandpa, he gets a lot of pleasure in watching his family having fun.
Last Saturday morning when I woke up, Jeffrey told me he had breakfast ready for me.
It was cold biscuits with peanut butter and syrup.
My husband never met my Grandpa, but but he knows my Dad and he knows the stories. And he loves me the same way: with a mixture of care-taking and doting and sit-back-and-watch-her-go pride. I am a woman surrounded past and present by wonderful men. I've been so blessed.
Grandpa and Grandma Chrisner in the early 1930s.