She's her Daddy's little Princess

She's also her Paw-Paw's little pumpkin.

I just remembered where I heard that title for the first time.

My Dad had a cousin....older by probably 20 years at least and more likely 30, hell, it was 35 years (I just did the math). At least one generation between them.....maybe a 3rd or 4th cousin, but we all called him Uncle Hershel. He had a small farm and had always been a small farmer in Dacula where I was raised. (Back then we were probably related in some way to 25% of the population in Gwinnett, County in one way or another.)

He'd work for my Dad on the dairy farm when we needed a little extra help which was a lot of the time. Also help out over at my Grandpa's since he was related to us through my Dad's maternal Grandmother Francis Hinton Mahaffey.

He'd married (I don't know if it was the second time, might have been the first) a widow woman when he was 65 years old and it wasn't long before she bore him a son (her second).

Uncle Hershel had brought his young son with him to visit us one afternoon while we were milking cows. The son was maybe 2 years old or less.....old enough to say a few words anyway. Uncle Hershel was as proud as a Peacock in full strut showing off his son.......carrying him held high up against his shoulder. He'd ask the boy what his name was and he'd say "Pumpkin" and Uncle Hershel would smile like the sun coming up over the Atlantic and say, "that's right, my Pumpkin".

So I guess that might be where I picked up the habit of referring to our small children as "Pumpkin". Come to think of it, I still call some of the grown ups "Pumpkin".

Anyway, back to the little princess.

We kept her for most of the 10 days that her parents were gone on their annual hunting trip to Wyoming (with a little help from her Aunt Hope) (Mama and Daddy each got two antelope and a mule deer) and enjoyed just about every minute of it. (Her Nannie would say EVERY minute)

Today the wife remembered one of the little things the pumpkin did that I didn't know about at the time.

Our sofa and love seat in the living room are covered in real genuine Naugahyde (remember that?) and while watching TV one day while Nannie was in the kitchen preparing supper she came into the kitchen with her little lips pouted up and a apprehensive look on her face and led her Nannie back to the couch and confessed that she had poked about 4 or 5 small holes in the arm of the sofa with the end of a comb she'd been combing her hair with. (Not big holes and a couple were not even all the way through the vinyl.) I'm sure her little heart was near breaking to have to admit it but her pure little heart couldn't tell a lie or pretend it didn't happen. I have to admit that just thinking about it now causes a little catch in my throat that she was brave enough to go tell Nannie of her little indiscretion.

Perhaps that is because I can remember back a long, long, long time ago to the day my Mother came into the living room and caught me In flagrante delicto a'pokin' holes in the freshly recovered naugahyde couch with one of the little Case knives that my Grandpa was fond of buying my little 4 year old self when he'd carry me to the feed store with him.

I don't remember if I got my little ass whipped for the crime or not (probably, but I can sure remember how horrified she had been of my actions), but if not I damn well deserved it.

It's a little easier to consider it an amusing little incident when it's one of the grandchildren and it's a week after it happened, but my little Pumpkin knew she'd done wrong and 'fessed up to it.

I'm pretty damn proud of her for that.