My grandmother’s name was Beulah. That’s a difficult name for a child to pronounce, so my mother’s cousins always shortened it and called my grandmother “Aunt Boo.” When my siblings and I—her grandchildren—entered the world, her title became, simply, “Boo.”
Boo’s house was a second home to us. She lived twenty miles from Paragould, and I was at her place almost as often as I was at ours. My grandfather, Pop, built us kids a two story tree house in the weeping willow tree in their backyard. We walked to the neighborhood soda fountain for cheeseburgers and milkshakes. We were allowed to stay up until 9 p.m. on Saturday nights to eat popcorn from pie tins and watch the Carol Burnett Show. Boo was then, and her memory is now, mythic for me. Her wisdom, her love, her attention exceeded those of all others. She is the best person I have ever known.
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