Coffee cans and cinnamon rolls...

I'm a full-fledged Traveljunkee, and I willingly acknowledge my addiction. Today I'm finishing my packing, then off to another adventure. I didn't think about the date, until my phone reminded me it's July first. Today would have been my paternal grandmother Lee Ellen's eighty-eighth birthday.

      When I was a little boy, around four or five, I went on a road trip with my grandparents. That trip was special because I was the only one going with them to my grandfather's hometown, Cairo, Illinois. No aunties, uncle, momma, or big brother, which meant I didn't have to sit on a lap or on "the hump." We went on road trips frequently, up to Ypsilanti, or Pittsburgh, or anywhere we had relatives, which was a lot of places.

     My grandparents prepared for each trip as if it were a military campaign. Pops had his Rand-McNally, tuna, fried chicken, etc. Lee Ellen made sure she had her pillows, because she always went to sleep, leaving us listening to WBEE, and chilling with Pops. Lee Ellen also carried a Hills Brothers coffee can in the car, in case someone missed the restroom break. I learned later on in life that the coffee can was a fixture because of the not so long ago days when Black folks couldn't always use the restrooms at gas stations.

      Anyway, the next morning, at our hotel, Pops was tired and his back was hurting. Lee Ellen had a remote control, a book, and an ashtray. She was in her element. Sidenote, didn't it seem as if everyone smoked back then? I asked permission to walk around the little motel, which she granted, after telling me not to bother anyone.

       As I walked around the motel, I took note of the different license plates, the deepness of the pool, and I walked past the telephone room, where two White women were answering calls. They saw me, and I said "Good morning," as I'd been taught. They returned my greeting, then the older of the two offered me a frosted cinnamon roll.

      Only my family knows this, but as a little boy, I loved cakes and cookies. My weakness, if you will. One family tale is about how I walked into my grandfather's house on a visit, and upon learning there was no caramel cake, I announced I was ready to go! Yep!

      I didn't hesitate in accepting the cinnamon roll, my eyes greedily looking at another one as the first one was still being chewed. The women exchanged glances, then they gave me the whole pack of rolls to take with me. I thanked them profusely, then scampered away with my goodies, feeling as if Christmas had come early.

      Lee Ellen had left the door slightly open, in order to hear anything. I entered the darkened room, my face smiling and sticky. My smile didn't last for long. I explained where I got the rolls for after she questioned me, and her mouth became one thin line. She put on her house shoes and a robe, never saying a word. She took my hand, and we went back to the telephone room. 

       My grandmother said "Good morning" to the ladies, then took the rolls out of my hands and sat them on the desk softly. "Thank you for the thought, but no thank you." I was flabbergasted, like WTF!

      The ladies said they were probably going to just throw them away, so they gave them to me. Lee Ellen listened, then quietly said, "He's okay without your garbage. Have a nice day." She took my hand in her firm one, and we went back towards our room.

      I was pissed. Lol. She looked down at me, then said two sentences which stayed with me through life. "Never accept charity or handouts from strangers, and never accept someone's garbage as a gift." Sigh.

      Lee Ellen passed over twenty years ago. I can still hear her voice, or picture her wearing one of her hats. She never hugged me, but she always made sure I knew that I belonged to her. She'd introduce me to unfamiliar relatives, or strangers at restaurants and airports as her second-oldest grandson. Her nightstand always had an ashtray and at least twenty books stacked on it. As does mine. She read Langston Hughes to me, introduced the 'Little House on the Prairie' books to me, instilled in us that blood is thicker than mud, and that family is everything. Indeed.

       She loved to travel, and would show the video of her standing on an iceberg to whomever happened to be around. Yeah, she was a travel junkie too. 

        As I filled my suitcase, I smiled thinking of her. I don't ask people for handouts, and I don't accept garbage as gifts. Lol. I wonder if she's sitting in Heaven, surrounded by people, watching me and my life? I can hear her in my head;  "Now that's my second-oldest grandson Marlon. He's a writer and author, who really gets around." I hope so. I really do. Happy Birthday Lee Ellen Hayes, and thank you.