My paternal grandparents, J. L. and Mary Katherine Nicely Mincey, were blessed with six children. Four of them lived to adulthood. Their son Fred was kicked to death by a mule when he was almost eight years old. Their daughter Faustine died when she was almost three and a half years old. No one seems to know for sure why, though she is said to have been a sickly child from birth.
My father was their only son who lived to father children, of which I was the last and only offspring from his second marriage. Their three surviving daughters became my wonderful aunts Vallie (Mrs. J. P. Lay), Fleetie (Mrs. Jack “Lester” B. Thomas), and Duskie (Mrs. Roy Jones). During my entire life all three of them lived less than five miles from each other, just off the Cherry Street area in Knoxville.
I loved all three of my aunts, and they each had different and colorful personalities. During my older boyhood and teenage years, I spent a couple of weeks with them during the summers.
Aunt Duskie and Uncle Roy lived in the very last block of Whittle Springs Road, first house on the left if you were heading toward the dead end of the street. There are three things I remember while staying with Aunt Duskie that taught me a couple of valuable lessons.
After one of the Thanksgiving dinners at Aunt Duskie’s, everyone was sitting in the “fire room” around the oil stove. Someone mentioned, “It’s not the same without Lloyd this year.” Lloyd was Uncle Roy Jones’ brother. I asked, “Where is Lloyd this year anyway?”
My aunt Fleetie literally screeched at me, “HE’S DEAD!” In shock, I replied, “I didn’t know he was dead!” Unmollified, Fleetie shrieked, “You knew he was dead! I TOLD you he was dead!”
Lesson learned—never let your mind wander when your elders are speaking, and endeavor your best to remember every word they say for so long as you live.
I vividly remember my visit with Aunt Duskie during the summer of 1984. I had just finished my freshman year at Lincoln Memorial University. Other than that being the only year in my entire school life (to that point) in which I achieved a 4.0 average, I had also fallen in love that spring. I was never so miserable in my life as I was during that summer, having to exist without the presence of my one true love.
I was staying with Aunt Fleetie, but I walked up Hoitt Avenue to visit with Aunt Duskie on a Sunday afternoon. Later, Duskie walked me back to Fleetie’s house, though I was nineteen years old and had walked to her house on my own. I had already learned that you didn’t argue with your elders.
Uncle Roy was napping as we were leaving. Aunt Duskie hollered at him, “ROY!” He replied, “What?” Duskie yelled, “Get up! I’m going to Fleetie’s.” Roy said, “Well, be back by 7:00—I want to go to church.”
A sidebar here—only on the rarest of occasions would Duskie allow both she and her husband to be away from home at the same time. She lived in fear of two things—thunderstorms and being robbed. One she could control, to an extent, not the other.
Duskie replied that she would be back by 7:00, and off we went. When we got back to Fleetie’s, Duskie lingered and talked with her sister and me at some length. I reminded her of the time, and that she had told Roy that she would be back in time for him to go to church. Duskie said, “Ah, he don’t need to go to church anyway.”
When Duskie finally decided it was time for her to go back home, she was standing on the front porch. Duskie always wore what I called cotton shifts in the summer. Just as she was leaving, she pulled her shift out by the collar and looked straight down the inside of her dress.
I couldn’t have resisted had I known better. I asked, “Did you lose something down there, Duck?” In her high-pitched voice, she said to Fleetie, “He didn’t talk like that ‘til he went off up yonder to that school!”
Lesson learned: never draw attention to your elderly relatives’ eccentricities, but if you must, do it in the presence of family only.
During one of my summer visits with Aunt Duskie an elderly lady came to visit. I, a young college student, trying to be the polite teenager I was raised to be, sat respectfully and listened to their conversation. To show my interest and manners, I would contribute if I deemed it appropriate.
For example, when Duskie’s visitor spoke highly of a point of interest in her grandson’s higher educational experience, I waxed a little eloquent on a bit of my own experience. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I’m sure it had to do with some wonderful tidbit I’d recently had to study, possibly Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, perhaps Sigmund Freud’s take on the id, ego, and superego. I’m certain that I didn’t use the term “psychosexual development theory”.
The conversation took a turn and continued. A little later the lady mentioned her “prosthesis”. I took a couple of furtive glances. Neither her legs nor arms seemed artificial. In polite curiosity, I asked, “What type of prosthesis do you have?”
Both my aunt and the lady colored, my aunt less than her visitor. The visitor said, “Well, you know, BREASTS and things like that.” It was my turn to color. I took no further part in the ladies’ conversation.
After the lady left, all my aunt said to me was, “I’m so glad you said what you did about that school you’re going to. That woman’s always bragging about her grandson like he was the only one to ever go to college.”
Lesson learned: never ask a woman anything that might remotely pertain to her personal health conditions. There’s no future in such a conversation for any male, anytime, anywhere.
Ah, Aunt Duskie, I hope you’re up there with Bill Monroe and he’s singing “Mule Skinner Blues” just for you. Save me a seat, and I’ll ask him to sing “Christmas Time’s A-Coming”.

ANSWER TO QUESTION OF THE WEEK # 39
What was the administrative assistant doing when she knocked the atomic clock from the wall? (ANSWER: She was killing time.)

QUESTION OF THE WEEK # 40
Will glass coffins be a success? (See next week’s article in historicunioncounty.com for the answer.)

QUESTIONS FROM EMAILS OF THE PAST
Who knew what time it was when the first clock was made?
If a bottle of poison reaches its expiration date, is it more poisonous or is it no longer poisonous?

Which letter is silent in the word "Scent," the S or the C?

If people evolved from monkeys, why are monkeys still around?

Why is there a 'D' in fridge, but not in refrigerator?

Why is it that when archeologists find human remains, they always determine that they are either male or female and no other gender?

How is it that the government can’t control gasoline prices…but the weather is something they can fix?

Do twins ever realize that one of them is unplanned?

In a theater, which arm rest is yours?

I went to San Francisco. I found someone's heart. Now what?