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As far back as I could remember as a teenager, that little house
up on that hill surrounded by other homes just like it represented Ma
and Pa Hayden. Somewhere along the way the spelling had been changed to
add a “y” to Haden. My
mother's parents raised eight children there. My mother was next to the
oldest, born in 1907. By today's standards no welfare family would live
in a house like that. I can remember just before they had inside
plumbing. A little building with a half moon cut in the door for
ventilation sat on a hill behind the house served sanitation needs. But the house always looked good to me, like a home expanded by
love. Pa Hayden was a heavyset man of medium height. Ma Hayden dark skinned with long, coal black hair. Her
Cherokee heritage was there. The third son was the one who became the junior, and everyone
called him Son. He flew with the Army Air Corps over Europe during World
War while another brother served in Alaska with an AA battery, another
with the navy in the Mediterranean and the oldest was kept stateside. I
remember the four blue stars that hung proudly in their window. Son was the only one to go to college in the waning days of the
Depression. All the family chipped in to send him to college. He waited
tables at William and Mary, met his future wife and brought her home to
meet the family. When they prepared to eat, Son asked his father if he
were going to wear a jacket for dinner. Pa Hayden said no and became
angry, skipping supper. He said he had his dinner at noon and this was
supper anyway. Neighbors later accused Son of putting on airs since he had gone
to college. He complained to Ma Hayden, "Ma, I even down
said even down." A bandy leg Irishman, Pa Hayden had a tremendous torso from years
of working in a foundry, handling heavy molds and casts. And he had a
taste for a dram of whisky now and then, which Ma Hayden despised. There
was a remedy for drinking advertised at the time. It was called
"What Stopped John" and was guaranteed to wean a drinker from
the evil spirits. One evening he came home tired from work and poured himself a cup
of coffee. A bowl on the table had been used by Ma Hayden in some food
preparation and contained salt. Thinking it was sugar, Pa Hayden helped
himself plentifully. At the first swallow, he spat it out. "Damn it, Mary! You've poisoned me with that What Stopped
John." Ma Hayden laughed so hard it was an hour before she could explain
what happened. Although he was bald when I knew him, Pa Hayden once had a shock
of brown hair which was his pride. One pleasure he had was for someone
to run their fingers through his hair.
It invariably relaxed him and made him sleepy. When he was taking
a nap one day, he heard two of the boys talking about how they wanted to
play barber. They ran their fingers through his hair which relaxed him
even more. "Pa, can we give you a haircut?" "Uh-huh," he replied, enjoying the soft young hands
massaging his scalp. He dozed off, their voices coming faintly through the mist of
sleep. "Maybe we ought to cut a little more off the other
side." "Yeah, I think we got too much here." "Turn
your head a little, Pa," When he woke up, he went into the kitchen to see Ma Hayden. She
screamed. "Charlie! What has happened to you?" "What do you mean?" He felt his body, looked at himself.
"What are you talking about." The boys had given him a haircut, and it was far from
professional. Later he said what really made him mad was that she hadn't
asked what happened to your hair. She had asked, "What happened to
you?" Once his oldest son came home crying and bleeding from an
encounter with an elderly shoemaker nearby. Pa Hayden quietly took his
pistol and went looking for him. Fortunately, the man had left town and
was never seen again. He loved sports and we grandchildren loved to have him play
baseball with us. Although he wasn't the fastest runner, he could hit
the ball so far he didn't have to. We decided he could only swing with
one hand. When that didn't work, we wanted him to hit left handed. The
ball still sailed out of the cow pasture. A big eater who loved his food, Pa Hayden continued to eat
heartily even after he retired. But he was getting no exercise and began
to put on excess weight. Once when I went to see him sick in bed, I
listened to him groan a lot. "Does it help when you groan?" I asked. He laughed. "I guess it does, Peter." I was in my first year of college when the call came. Pa Hayden
was dying and they wanted all the family there. My aunt and her family
picked me up and I made the trip home with them. All the children and
grandchildren were around the bed where he lay in a stupor. He raised up once and saw me. "Well, there's ole Peter,"
he said. I always treasured that. Ma Hayden had never been seriously ill in her life. But she died
two weeks after he did. Their love seemed to be so strong that she just
wanted to be with him where he was. They left eight children and more grandchildren than I can
remember. Most importantly, they left a lot of love. Someone said
someone is immortal as long as someone mentions that name. So let me
make them immortal again--Ma Hayden, Pa Hayden.
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