Generations
I can remember being a small child, three or four, and accompanying my dad to the nursing home where he was the chaplain. I still pass the nursing home every now and then and I'm taken back to those vague but memorable days with my dad. In this nursing home was my granny, Ruby. My grandmother, Nell, tried her very best to take care of her mother at home, but granny's parkinsons disease was too much for my grandma to take on by herself. It's no secret nursing homes don't treat patients right all the time, my grandma watched her mother suffer cruelty in the nursing home and vowed she would never let that happen to herself. The older folks at the home loved my dad, everyone in these parts call him Jimmy. He gave tender touches and hugs, he would crouch down to look them in the eye as they sat in their wheelchairs. I can't remember a lot about being at the home with my dad, just that I was there. We would sing, he would preach, and they loved it. Growing up I ...