H. G. Hodge Birthday Bash, 1999

    The birthday celebration and roast for H. Grady Hodge as plotted by wife, Gail, and fellow conspirators went much as planned.  Relatives, former co-workers, coon hunter pals and numerous offspring enjoyed loud music and mystery meat barbecue.  Games were played and a display of family photos from the years past was examined by many.

    A number of those present took part in the roasting of the honored guest.  They all seemed to arrive at a consensus:  he was one mean little boy critter who has not much improved with the passage of time.

    As his eldest sister, I have perhaps earlier memories of him than his other siblings, but I have to admit not remembering ever hearing words like "sweet", "angelic" and "adorable" bandied about as happened several years later when another brother arrived to join the ranks.  (Take a bow, Larry!) However, I do not think H.G. was any worse than are most little brothers.

    I remember him as the little boy who became my charge when I was nine years old.  I was the one who rocked him to sleep for his daily nap.  After lunch he and I would head for the rocking chair in the long, cool hallway, and I would sing him to sleep.  He would start yawning as soon as I began his favorite, the old ballad of "the ship that never returned".

    I remember him looking through my freshman year's college annual with increasing bewilderment because he couldn't locate his sister's picture in the campus beauties section.  Bless his sincere little heart.

    Until I went away to school, we two had regular wrestling matches, often at Mother's instigation and always with her approval.  She liked how well-behaved he would be for a week or so after having his face rubbed in the dirt.

    On my first return visit, he challenged me to a tussle, and that time he rubbed my nose in the sand.  It was our last match.

    Probably all of us share one of the most poignant memories, known as the Great Dewberry Disaster.  Each spring we looked forward to the first crop of ripe berries.  We spotted the best picking spots by noting where the most white blossoms were blooming along roadways, fields and pastures.  We watched the little hard berries form and slowly turn from green to to red and finally to a lucious black ripeness.  We picked enough of them to make a big cobbler and carried them home to our mother, an inspired cook of berry cobbler fame.

    We waited with mouths watering for suppertime to come.  H.G. was the first to finish supper, and reached for the big cobbler dish.  Somehow in his eagerness, he managed to dump the entire pie in his lap, on the floor and all down the kitchen wall.  We were too shocked and disappointed to even cry.  Not only was the pie lost to us, but we had to clean up the mess it made as well.

    Happy birthday, little brother, and many more to come!  We promise not to do this to you again.  This year.

Dated August 23rd, 1999

H G Hodge Jr, aka "Son", "Unky", and "Grady"