After Sunday dinner when the weather was fine, our grandfather would load us cousins into his truck and drive us to his camp by Lake Chicot. There, we’d throw hickory nuts, scare each other with cries of “Snake!” and shriek and jump for no good reason at all.
I’m sure my grandmother sighed with relief when the truck pulled away. No more kids running back and forth through the kitchen’s swinging doors, no more chicken fighting in the living room. To this day, none of the cousins has fessed up to breaking the glass top of her coffee table. I swear it wasn’t me.
My entry to the RootsTech 2018 Photo+Story Competition for the FAMILY category.
Grits & Gumbo 
I don’t think it’s a secret. I’m the one who broke the coffee table glass. You were probably too young to have seen it happen.The living room sofa had been pulled out into a bed and a bunch of the cousins were jumping on it trampoline style. I bounced off and landed on the table. Confession time to Grandma was hard but there were too many witnesses to try to lie. I cried quite a bit.The table now resides at Carol’s house.
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You poor girl, you must have been devastated! I’m still amazed at how we were allowed to play in the living room.
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P.S. Years ago when I first heard the story of the broken coffee table, Carol said “I know who did it” but wouldn’t say who it was.
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Love this website!
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