My grandmother bestowed this information on the congregation of her church every Mother's Day. Year after year plump, grey and beaming she would make the same announcement..
We were required on Mother�s Day to attend Granny�s church to honor her. She was always so proud; and wore the dime store orchid Mom brought her for the occasion as if it were a flower fit for a queen.

We would sit about the sixth row back from the pastor�s podium in the small country church of Ennis, Texas. Since there were probably only ten rows of pews that would put us just past the center of the sanctuary.

The preacher would enthusiastically ask the mothers to introduce themselves and their families. When it was Granny�s turn she would proudly stand, introduce herself, my mother, my father, my brother and myself. She gave each one of us equally proud attention. Then she even more proudly announced with a nervous giggle,
"And, I have altogether 11 children and not one of them has ever been to jail."
The jail part always got me.
It was my desire to pretend to pray, quietly sneak to the floor, crawl under the pews to the back, and sneak out through the partially opened double doors.

I planned to never return again and be identified as part of the "never been to jail" family.
However, I knew my mother and father would not tolerate this behavior without a great deal of resistance so I quietly endured the humility.

It is with fondness I remember it now. I think of all the challenges parents face in raising their children.
I think of all the challenges my grandmother faced throughout life and in raising her children.
I remember the portrait of her haunting beautiful face as she stands at 16 years of age beside the handsome soldier.
Both are totally oblivious to fact that the next family portrait will reveal only a 19 year old widowed mother and three children -- victims of WWI. I remember the four sons she sent to the Korean War who safely returned home -- one just barely and with shrapnel in his brain.
I remember the tales of great rides on a barge up the Trinity River to find work in Dallas during the Great Depression. I remember pictures of an impoverished woman alone, outside the house on the porch, sitting beside an oil lamp reading a book.
I remember the day we held Granny's hand as she buried her youngest daughter; -- and I know, it truly was an accomplishment to successfully raise all those children.
That is why I want to proudly announce for Granny since she is not here to remind us anymore that she had
"altogether 11 children and not one of them ever went to jail".

May 3 1998