When I think of my Pawpaw, I think of watermelons. Yep, he could grow ‘em like nobody’s business. As I remember the summers of my childhood, I can still taste the sweetness of his melons. My cousins and I always made a big mess eating and enjoying them because making a mess was part of the fun.

During those lazy summer days I remember one piece of advice Pawpaw shared with us. “Never, ever swallow a seed,” he cautioned with a solemn face.

“Why?” We all asked, just a little frightened.

“If you swallow a seed, then a big watermelon will grow in your stomach.” That was the answer.

I think I’m there.

Good, gosh almighty, I might even have an entire watermelon patch lodged between by backbone and belly button. It is downright scary. Now some have termed this time of life as the donut-ring or muffin-top category. Not me, melons were prophesized by Pawpaw many years ago and so it shall be. Sigh

I believe Pawpaw was right. I did gulp down, probably several dozen seeds, and now after 50 years, my crop is about to make. At first I was a little upset but then I remembered those wonderful summer afternoons, when sticky juice ran down my cheeks, my arms and legs, even through by toes. Oh, it was a good thing.

This was about the time in my life when I wouldn’t eat two bites of anything. Momma made me an appointment with old Dr. Hackett Bennett. His office was in the Threefoot Building. She complained to the doctor. “I can’t get her to eat.”

Dr. Bennett prescribed a tonic. It was a dark, syrupy concoction with the taste of turpentine and the smell of burnt hair, but boy did it work! I have never missed a meal since that time.

But it was then that I remember when Momma called Daddy “Barrel Belly.” Nope, didn’t go over too well however, remember I was the one who “wouldn’t eat two bites” so I really didn’t pay too much attention.

However, it wasn’t too long until Momma couldn’t get her buttons fastened and needed a new belt for her Sunday dress. Granny also fell into this category of chubby-tummy. So I suppose it was just a matter of time until the plight fell upon me.

I blame that tonic.

However, when calculating my present predicament, I go back to the watermelon seeds. Uh-huh.

Now I admit that I do enjoy a nice slice or two of pecan pie (Granny’s recipe), also Aunt Neal’s butter-plus-butter-plus-butter pound cake and an occasional Snicker Bar. Yes, I do, but I have always indulged in this way, avoiding rabbit food at all cost. Why should my buttons become strained? I’m not ready for the elastic-waist type pants. Nope, not yet.

I have tried and tried to think of skinny relatives. They seem to be sparse in number especially when I remember a recent conversation with one of my favorite cousins. When I asked, “What have you been up to?”

He answered with a chuckle, “Oh, I’m up to about 270.”

And so time marches on, one watermelon at the time, but let me tell you, I have avoided those dastardly seeds with each drippy bite. Nope, no more seeds for me. And as well I have solved the skinny relative search. Why, it was Pawpaw. That tells me he was not a seed swallower. I knew he was special.

I am certain my watermelon-delivery-date is near. And if I must deal with this dilemma, then I hope for the moon and stars variety of melons. They were Pawpaw’s favorite.

Anne McKee is a Mississippi historian, writer and storyteller. She is listed on the Mississippi Humanities Speakers Bureau and Mississippi Arts Commission’s Performing Artist and Teaching Artist Rosters. See her website: www.annemckeestoryteller.com.