Kimberly Ann

Your mom picked your name. It is odd to me that people are rarely called by the names they were born with, but some variation (Kim) or even a nickname picked up in childhood (Kimbo, and please don't hate me).


I mention this because Kimberly Ann was a very popular name the year you were born. And perhaps the year before and the year after. No movie stars of that name (I do remember a couple of "Kims") so maybe it was a character on a popular soap opera.

Anyway I accused your mother of having no imagination and she was suitably annoyed and may have even suggested that I name the next child. Or maybe I insisted that I be allowed to do so. You should ask your mother.

I digress. You wondered about "our" story and this is part of that, leading up to the main event, as it were.

You were the first grandchild on either side and heavily doted upon. In fact, and you must hide this from the other girls, you were definitely Memaw Tolar's favorite.

Not sure about your Pepaw, cuz he was so good at not showing such prejudice toward one or the other child. I'm sure he favored you though since he loved the underdog (being one himself) and whose heart would not go out to a little girl who had me and your mama for parents!

You have told many great stories about your childhood. See, the insanely competitive Tolar gene gets all the notice, being so spectacular in action, but there is the storyteller gene as well. Pepaw Tolar had it. Aunt Deb has it. You have it.

It's the ability to relate an event "with advantages" (as  Shakespeare would have it).

But here's one you may not remember.

We had just gotten the 4430 and I was disking with it behind the house. Your mom brought you out and indicated you wanted to ride on the tractor. She lifted you up and I pulled you onto the seat between my legs, the big steering wheel practically in your lap.
In fact you placed your little hands on the wheel and helped me drive as we made a round and pointed back toward the house. There was still a barbed wire fence there from the days when the field had been a cow pasture. You didn't know it but with a brake on each wheel the John Deere would literally turn in its own tracks. So I rolled up to the fence and spun the wheel, jammed on the right brake, raised the power lift then lowered it again, all while not even grazing the fence. In fact the only distraction I suffered was when you grabbed my leg in a death grip, apparently convinced that we were not only about to crash through the fence but on through the house as well. I think I still have the scar.

It was cool taking you guys to a restaurant when you were little (I especially remember Pancho's) because you were so well-behaved and people always commented on it and your mom and I would get all swelled up because we were doing such an awesome job raising yall.

About that. I think I gave you a piece of paper quite a while back folded into a booklet telling your mom how much you loved her. Except when she made you mad. Then you made a list of the things you didn't love about how she oppressed you. And this is the strange part: somewhere in the midst of this you called Niki a "dumb ace". Or maybe that was in a different writing of yours. You should ask your mother. I only remembered being appalled at such language from my little girl and to this day, I cannot imagine where you might have learned it.

Finally, on to "The Two Mrs. Williams (es?)". Mrs. Williams (or maybe it was "Miss") was your math teacher in perhaps the third grade(?). And no doubt, being fresh out of teacher's college (they used to have those), she was anxious about teaching her first group of students and maybe even a little overwhelmed at interacting with white children for maybe the first time in her life. Such were the times we lived in. One of her first acts was to send you home with an "F" paper. Your parents were upset. This parent was even more upset when I checked your work and found that you had not given any wrong answers at all! Well maybe one. Or two. Still an "A" paper. Looking back, I can only think that stress fuddled her thinking and she confused addition with subtraction. Or something.Your mom declined to go and discuss the problem with the teacher so it fell to this redneck to go and parley with this woman who had mistreated my child. I wore my sternest visage as I pointed out her grading errors in soft, low tones that nonetheless expressed the desire to not see this error repeated.

You know the thing I really remember about this was Mrs. Williams eyes and how wide they were as we spoke. After all, she was black and I was white and we were in the South and all that implied at the time. Looking back. I'm glad I wasn't mean but I'm gladder that Mrs. Williams is/has been a valued colleague of yours.

It makes me proud of who that little girl has become, all that she has accomplished professionally, but even more than that become the matriarch (again please forgive me, but it IS true) of this clan you so love and faithfully nurture.

Way to go, you.

I love you, Kimberly Ann.