Nickels for the Plate
By David Davis
Copyright David Davis 2011
Smashwords Edition
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Grandma Davis wanted to make sure I didn’t go to hell. (That balances the fact that many folks wanted me to go there later in life.) Since both sets of grandparents lived in New Summerfield, Texas, my sister and I divided our vacation time between them.
I can’t write about my childhood without at least one chapter about Grandma Tavie Davis.
Every summer my sister and I stayed with her for three weeks. She made sure those three weeks were at the same time her church held Bible School.
She worried about us. After all, we were the “sinful city” branch of a rural farming clan. Raised as “Whiskeypalians”--or Episcopalians, for you folks unschooled in the ways of the devil.
Grandma never spoke a word against our sect, but she wanted her American Baptists to get their licks in whenever they could. It was open season on our souls when we visited her in rural East Texas, and I have fond memories of the struggle.