As I work through my genealogy, I often reflect on the little things that I can remember about my grandparents and the broader question of what traits they might have passed on to me.
On my Father’s side, there was Grandma Sara Keefer. She was a sad woman, always looking as if she had lost her last dime. But every once in a while, I would see her light up at something one of us did. She had a LOT of grandkids. Her life had not always been easy, growing up in the 1930’s, marrying young, losing quite a few children (stillborn) and then having the challenge of my Uncle Bob who suffered from mental illness. She divorced my Grandfather and the battle was contentious, to the point where I never saw him until I was 13 years old and he was ill in the hospital. One of my cousins threw me on the back of his motorcycle and took me there. I walked in and was astonished to see an older version of my Father. I was jealous of my Pennsylvania cousins; they had grown up knowing and spending time with everyone. Not so, the Keefer kids from the South. Whatever I got from my Grandpa Keefer is a mystery to me.
I was probably the closest to my Grandma Keefer. She called and spoke with my Mother frequently and sent little cards and gifts when she could afford. She lived in the country in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania in a modest house. There was a chicken coop out back and I remember the most marvelous Swiss Steak with mushrooms and lumpy mashed potatoes for Sunday dinner when we came to visit. In the evenings she would give us Mason jars to go out and catch fireflies. We actually slept in drawers and on chairs pushed together. But her house was a home, filled with games and books, and food, and laughter and discussions around the kitchen table late into the night.
I guess I got a lot of who I am from her.
