Bubba as we knew her.
After asking my mother the origin of
‘Bubba’ as a name, she answered, “I think it means ‘grandma’ in Czech.” I
believe that was the extent of such research.
We were many and we were small and she was only one and
small also. Typically, in the summer season, Bubba would fly via USAir out to
the northwest corner of these continental United States and stay for a few
weeks at a time.
This side of the family eventually grew to a total of ten
children, of which, each individual’s high school graduation could expect another
visit from the Bub. These memories begin
back at a time when entire families could walk all the way up to the boarding
gates within the airport. We would all get cleaned up and dress pretty. Earth-toned
pants and polo-shirts with curled collars for the boys and floral dresses and
socks with doilies at the ankles for the girls. Sometimes my sisters donned large white ‘heading
to the horse race’ hats if it Spring was in the air. Other accepted
outfits were typically ‘Penn State’ related t-shirts and or any custom
hand-made shirt from the guest of honor.
I remember staring out of the big
windows and admiring the ginormous size of the airplanes as they arrived and
departed and all of the moving people that made such arriving and departing
happen.
We never showed up late. At some phase in her upbringing, my
own mother must have been partially raised by a herding breed of canine.
Austrailian Shepards, perhaps? Well, judging strictly by the ten even sets of
forehead bangs, a la, children-of-the-corn-style, more likely she was reared by
Sheepdogs. How else could one explain that natural ability to corral so many
little Christian soldiers to get squeaky clean, pile into a blue van and find
seatbelts, drive fifty-five oldies-laden minutes, park, and then mob through an airport to
the correct arrival gate?
Half of the plane would file out of the doorway and then we
would see, a pair of loose but comfortably-fitting, deeply-pleated, baby blue
capri style polyester pants, and coke-bottle style prescription sunglasses
covering up a warmly welcomed Bubba.
Big hugs ensued.
Heading to the baggage check, it was always
a curiosity that any drug-sniffing dog working through the luggage would choose
to ignore the roughly sixteen pounds of ‘chipped ham’ nestling snugly among
Bubba’s toiletries.
Bubba visiting meant that Mom and Dad could go out for
dinner at least once during her while. We would get sent upstairs at our normal
bedtimes and then we would take turns tiptoeing back down to see what we could
get away with. Peering around the kitchen corner one might find a Bubba
standing two feet away (one might even call it arm’s length) from the living
room television whilst holding the remote control and attempting to glean the
local news’ nominal riot.
There seemed to be no weaknesses to this babysitter’s ruling
methods. She represented what my parents wanted quite keenly and we respected
her for that.
