On March the first my “GREAT” granddaughter, Madelynne, became thirteen. Being thirteen was the worst year of my life. When I look back on that year I nearly have heart failure. I know I put a lot of grey hairs on my Mother’s head . I never did anything bad. I think I just embarrassed my whole family. Brother Carl told Mama to tell me NOT to speak to him in public. One beautiful summer Sunday afternoon I nearly embarrassed sister Maxine to death. She was living in an apartment in the house that was located on Main Street across from the McConnell Funeral Home. At that time she was teaching at the high school. A very proud person . On that particular Sunday afternoon she was sitting with her boy friend (who happened to be an Army Officer from Camp Chaffee) in the swing on the front porch. When much to her surprise and embarrassment I came driving down Main Street in a stripped down jalopy, and I honked, waved and hollered at her. I was in the car by myself. I can’t remember whose car it was. Where did I learn to drive? I didn’t. I just asked if I could drive, got in the jalopy and drove. I know my guardian angel certainly won her wings. She had to have been driving that jalopy because I certainly didn’t know how. Although I did a pretty good job. I stayed on my side of the street, I didn’t kill anyone or myself. Oh, My! I have cold chills just thinking about it. I have cold chills now but was in high cotton that Sunday afternoon driving down Main Street all by myself. I was big for my age at thirteen. At the age of twelve Daddy died, Mama was working and I was cooking supper most nights. I was more mature than most girls my age. I began my nursing career at the age of twelve when I stayed with the late Retha Ware when her daughter, Janet, was born. I washed the dirty diapers and helped with the household chores. The problem was I thought I was old enough to have a boy friend. I would get a boy friend but the problem being when they came to the house Mama would explain, “She is just thirteen” and of course they never came back. Throughout the years my siblings have loved to say to me, “She is just thirteen.” I wouldn’t tell them it makes me want to crawl under a rock. When I look at my “GREAT” I am so thankful she isn’t anything like her Granny was at thirteen. I can’t imagine her riding in a stripped down jalopy, much less driving down Main Street on a Sunday Afternoon.