Different Worlds in the Same Country
My grandfather on my mother’s side, Royce, lives in the suburbs of St. Louis with my grandmother, Linda. When I think about their house, one of the first things that comes to mind is the peach carpet that covers the second floor. Royce, who’ll I’ll be referring to as Papa for the continuation of the post, didn’t grow up with peach carpet or a collection of nutcrackers in the living room. He grew up with a dirt floor. Papa’s childhood was lived out in northern Alabama. And yes, in a house with a dirt floor. His father was a farmer and laborer for the small town in which they lived. Don’t be fooled by the word town. Papa lived about a quarter-mile down the road from any neighbors. He went to school in a building where kindergarteners to high school seniors were taught. No one in his family was college-educated. Papa knew he didn’t want to stay, no matter how he loved his family there (and his pet pig and raccoon.) He joined the military to pay for college, never seeing any action but n