In all our lives, certain events mold us and stick with us long after they occur. For my Granny, the night of December 6, 1941, was one of those times.
It was a warm spring day as we sat on the porch, and Granny began to recount the story of that night to me. I believe it’s from my Granny that I developed a love of sharing stories from the past to carry on for future generations.
Granny began her story by explaining that she and my grandpa were living at Tug Creek when this occurred. She said they were out in the yard talking to their neighbor Buddy when suddenly the sky lit up like it was daytime. All three heads turned to look skyward. She said what they saw made cold chills run up and down their spine. She said it was beautiful and scary at the same time. They saw a gigantic gold cross outlined in pearls. She said it appeared to take up most of the sky. She went on to say that it stayed awhile and disappeared as suddenly as it appeared.
Buddy, their neighbor, ran back home to his house. Many people thought the end of the world was coming. Granny said she and grandpa went into their house and talked about what they thought was going to happen. Grandpa said he knew something would happen, or a cross wouldn’t have appeared.
The next day they received word that Pearl Harbor had been bombed and the US was now involved in the war. They knew right away what the pearl-studded cross had signified.
Granny went on to tell me how hard times got during the war; you had to patch holes in your shoes with cardboard because shoes were rationed. She spoke of how you had to learn to adjust all your recipes because so many good staples were also among the rationed items. My Granny was the strongest and most resilient woman I’ve ever known. If I’m even half the woman she was, then I’ve not failed at this thing called life.
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