When I was a kid one of the best things in my life was my grandma’s cooking. I loved eating at my Grandma’s house. She was a cook for one of the most popular restaurants in her little home town, so her food was always so good. In addition to eating good food at her house was the fact that she always, always and I mean always had sweet tea - oh man, how I loved that southern sweet tea. The only thing I hated about eating at her house was the fact that there were a few unwritten rules such as the whole family sits together to eat and we all eat at the dinning room table. While we’re eating all electronic devices will be turned off, so it could be Superbowl Sunday and everyone else around the country was eating wings and watching the game - if were at my grandma’s house more than likely you were eating some good ol’ home cooked meal and drinking sweet tea. The thing I disliked most about eating at my grandmother’s house was the fact that my grandfather would sit at the head of the table and from there he would look over everyone and choose someone to give “the blessing.”

As a little kid it never bothered me because my grandfather never called on anyone from the kid table to give the blessing, but as I got older and moved up to the adult table the chances of being called to give the blessing suddenly became real. Since my grandfather was a Baptist Preacher from the heart of the Bible Belt praying was a serious business and if you wanted to go to Heaven you better know how to do it because as my grandmother used to say “Praying is just speaking to God“ and if you can’t speak to God then there is no way you’re getting into Heaven. It was crazy because all my family members could pray at a moment’s notice and they could do it so well, even my father who was the beer drinking, cigarette smoking black sheep of the family could pray if called upon to do so - I’ve heard him do it and I bet I was just as surprised as God must have been to hear him pray so well.

In my house I never had to worry about praying we never gave the blessing and if we did I could easily get away with the kids prayer “Rub-a-dub-dub. Thanks for the grub.” but that wouldn’t go over well at my grandparent’s house. My grandmother would be horrified at her grandson’s blatant attempts to make the Devil himself come up through the floorboards and take him straight to Hell and I’m sure my grandfather would go into a whole fire and brimestone sermon of how the entire world is going straight to Hell because parents don’t teach their children to pray.

I tried to sit low in my chair so my grandfather wouldn’t call on me to say the blessing, but thinking back on it now, that may have just caused me to stick out more.

“Junior” my grandfather said. He always called me “Junior” or “boy” I have a cousin who’s named Ray and he’s a junior too so my grandfather called him “Ray Junior” but he never called me “Tony Junior” he just called me Junior - at times I wondered if he ever even knew my name. ”Junior, would you please say the blessing?”

I wanted to say “No, grandfather. I don’t think I’ll say the blessing today. I’ll pass it to Ray Junior, he can knock himself out with it, but thank you for asking.” Of course I didn’t say that, not only would that get me grounded but I’m sure it would be a ticket straight to Hell.

“Junior, would you please say the blessing?” My grandfather’s voice brought me out my thoughts.

In my mind I started with “Rub-a-dub-dub” “No,” I said to myself as my grandmother’s words came to me “Praying is just speaking to God” I looked around the table, everyone had their heads bowed and their eyes closed. I thought about grabbing a piece of friend chicken and making a run for it, but I would surely go to hell for that so instead I took a deep breath and began my prayer…

“Dear God. It’s me Tony just checking to see what you’re up to? We’re fine…we’re all fine…how are you? I just want to thank you for giving me a grandma who can cook and not one of those grandma’s who just heats up stuff and makes you eat it even if it tastes like crap.” I thought I heard my grandma chuckle a bit there, but I can’t be certain. “Lord , now that I have you on the line I’d like to remind that we have a big math test on Friday. If the answers just happen to pop into my mind that’s not considered cheating.”

“uhmm.” I heard my grandfather clear his throat or make some sort of noise that sounded like a wild animal about to eat it’s young.”

I continued my prayer. “You know God, it really wouldn’t be so bad if Mean Margaret was transferred to another school in another country…”

At that point my dad took over the blessing and again I was surprised at how well he could pray. In my mind I imagined that God had the same puzzled look on his face as I did on mine and we were both thinking the same thing, “how the Hell does he know how to pray?”