Grady Jefferson Scarbrough was born the middle son of a family
of seven children, two brothers and four sisters. I never knew much
about my father’s childhood, or about his family, as I grew up.
However, from what little I overheard as a child he had a hard life,
working very hard and long hours for cheap wages. Dad was a simple
man who did not finish school, only going to the third grade.
In spite of his lack of formal education he read his Bible every day,
and the daily newspaper.


Dad was a great carpenter and worked well with his hands. In the
winter months his hands would crack and bleed. He was a perfectionist.
He would tear anything apart that did not turn out right and rework
it until it was just right, even if it was a chicken coup. Often Dad had
to stay away from home when jobs were scarce, resulting in him having
to travel to find work. After a hard week’s work, Dad would come
home on Friday night. Saturday was a busy day working in the fields
and garden to supply food for our family in spring and summer months.
Winter months were busy times keeping firewood for the fireplace
and wood burning heaters. On Sundays we went to church and rested
until Dad had to leave, so he could be at his work site on Mondays.


Some people thought Dad was a hard man because he was a tough
disciplinarian, but we knew we were loved and provided for. I never
heard Dad say a curse word all of my life, and he had a generous heart.
We might not have had the finest food, but we ate a healthy diet, raising
most of what we ate. When meat was needed we killed a yearling for beef,
or killed a hog for pork. We also had chickens, and we used the fresh
eggs they laid. Our milk and butter came from our farm. Dad would
sell the surplus to help make ends meet.


Dad never made tracks anywhere a small child could not follow. We
were allowed to hunt wild game, but we had to make each shot count.
Never were we allowed to hunt on Sundays. We fished a lot on
Saturday afternoons, but never on Sunday. Dad would say everything
needed a rest. He was a great conservationist. He taught us to love
the land and respect it.


Dad’s favorite clothes were overalls; carpenter overalls for work
on the job and blue denim ones for work at home. On Sundays he
wore Khaki pants and a dress shirt to church.


At the age of thirty-one Dad married Mom. She was a twenty-seven
year old bride. Because of their ages, as a child I thought Mom and
Dad were old people. When I became an adult I realized they were
very wise people. Things my brother and I were taught by them
included how to work and provide for our needs. Most importantly,
we were taught about God.


I learned how to milk cows. I learned to feed the mules, hogs,
chickens, dogs, and cats. Dad taught me how to split firewood
and draw water from the well. These were all daily chores to do
before and after school when Dad was away from home working.


Mom’s health had deteriorated too much for her to help with
those chores. She managed to keep the house, cooking, and sewing
for the family. Dad taught me how to plow in the fields along
with him and harvest the crops. My brother was ten years older
than me and was busy raising his own family by then.


Mom, Dad, and I would go to town once a week to buy the items
we could not raise, stopping along the way to sell eggs and
vegetables to his customers. This provided money for
gasoline and the items we needed to buy.


Some neighbors thought we were rich, and we were, but not by
monetary standards. The most money I ever knew Dad to have
in his hand was approximately five hundred dollars. That was
what he handed over to the doctor and hospital to pay for
Mom’s surgery. Dad paid it in full with that cash. Being broke
after that, Dad had to find extra work to pay the other bills.
I wore hand-me-downs and re-made dresses for a while after
that, but I never knew any shame in this.
I always looked as neat as anyone else in school or church.


During the summer months there would always be a revival at
church. On the last day of the revival Dad would go to the
field and gather corn and any vegetables that were ready to
eat. This was sent home with the preacher who was the chosen
evangelist for the revival. There would always be enough for
the preacher to feed his family for a week. This was above
and beyond tithes and offerings. We were taught to
be generous and share our blessings with others.


At the age of seventy four Dad went home to the Lord. He
left a lot of footprints for his children to follow, but none
of these lead to any place we should not go. I hope and pray
that when my life is finished my children can be able to say I
left a clear path for them to be able to follow; a path that
will lead them to good works and to the Lord.

Dad, I love you, and I cherish the memories you left behind.


Your daughter,
Mary Evelyn (Scarbrough) Kittrell

© 2007 Mary E. Kittrell