“A cousin is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.”

I lost my last bloodline, paternal cousin this week and yes, along with her sister, Joann, we were the three musketeers, of a sort. As an only child, my two girl cousins were a large component of my childhood.

Oh, we rode the wheels off of our bikes, sometimes as far as Highland Park. We played marbles “for keeps.” My mama didn’t like that, said it was “gambling.” We cranked on our roller skates and challenged the highest hills in the neighborhood, as we rolled along the rough paved streets, with wind in our faces.

And climbed trees, especially Joann and I. There was a large magnolia tree outside our grandma’s kitchen window which was our favorite. I can hear Grandma Brooks now as she called to us. “You better come down before you break a leg.” But we didn’t, just went higher.

We lost Joann ten years ago and the vacancy within our hearts was never refilled. And last week, I lost her sister, Donna. I am the last one of the three musketeers.

There’s a song.

One is the Loneliest Number (lyrics in part)

By Harry Nilsson, 1969

One is the saddest experience you’ll ever know

Yes it is the saddest experience you’ll ever know

“Cause one is the loneliest number you’ll ever know.

Donna was the oldest and the first to get her driver’s license but we all three celebrated. We had gained a bit of freedom. On Sunday afternoons, we pooled our quarters to gas up Uncle Knott’s car, and Donna drove us around town.

There would be times we wheeled through Highland Park and visited friends at the pool and then head toward Frank’s Drive-Inn and the Spot, stopping briefly for a Sun Drop Cola and order of fries, with plenty of Ketchup, which we shared.

Those were beautiful days, carefree and unassuming. We learned to dance the Twist together and squealed when the Beatles first appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show. We skipped through Highland Park during the big Jimmie Rodgers Festivals, not really knowing who Jimmie Rodgers was, but only that our Grandma Brooks was a cousin to his sister-in-law. Maybe we didn’t know the details, only that they were cousins. That was good enough for us.

There were weekly or bi-weekly spend-the-nights when Grandma filled the Saturday night clawfoot bathtub with steaming water and we made bubbles with Lifebuoy bath soap and afterwards piled into clean sheets for a good night’s sleep.

On these special nights, Grandma made our favorites for supper: Tuna Salad and Red Jell-O. We were more than happy as we giggled and made plans for the next day.

When a little older, we rode the City Bus into downtown and ate lunch at the Triangle for that wonderful, wonderful Chic-Steak sandwich, then took-in a movie, first with a stop at Kress Dime Store for just one little purchase, maybe a ponytail holder. We were into ponytails.

There we other times when we walked to meet “halfway” between our houses so that we could spend the afternoon together, playing Jacks, Old Maids, or when Grandma was out of the room, calling numbers at random asking, “Is your refrigerator running?” or “Is this May?” “May who?” “May-onnaise.”

Yes, that was us.

We occasionally saw out of town cousins such as Larry, Terry and Bruce Brooks when they visited from Mobile, Alabama, but most of the time, it was the three of us. We were three little girls, just having fun. It was a childhood of innocence lived in a small, southern town where we were protected from the real world. That would come later.

And so I end with this:

“Other things may change us, but we start and end with family.” -Anthony Brandt

Farewell Cousin Donna Ruth Knotts Maggard, until we meet again.

Donna Ruth Knotts Maggard 1943-2020

Anne B 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 web site: www.annemckeestoryteller.com