Many years ago, long before ancestry.com and spit-in-a-tube DNA tests, I sat at the kitchen table of the little house on South College Street and asked my daddy’s daddy to tell me about his family. Not us, all the grown-up aunts and uncles who used to be the children he bounced on his knees and threatened to, but never did, spank with a leather belt. Not us cousins, who rushed in and out of the house like indecisive waves, the screen door sounding behind us over and over.
Listen!
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![Kathy Bradley](https://statesboroherald.cdn-anvilcms.net/media/images/2020/06/18/images/Kathy_Bradley_new_WEB.max-752x423.jpg)
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