Today is the birthday of my father’s father, George Sims Norris, who resided on this earth from 1905-1980.
I have two memories of him. The first is just an image: I’m in a kitchen, looking at him–his belt line was about the same height as the kitchen counter; I wasn’t as tall as either yet.
The other is a memory of seeing Pinocchio and being afraid of the whale. My family says George took me to see that; the internet says it would have been December of 1978, when I was three.
It’s possible the kitchen and the movie happened on the same day. My parents split up when I was only a few months old, and my father and his family weren’t really part of my life after. My father and George both died in 1980.
He was originally a farmer from Tennessee, and I have evidence he registered for the WWII draft, but I don’t know if he served. He likely didn’t know what to make of his son, my father, a hippy, who was likely a surprise baby, born twenty years after his other child.
I’ve been trying to learn more about his life, but I only have this one picture.
I’ve been more successful with his ancestors, including the discovery that George’s parents were first cousins (his grandmothers were sisters).
I don’t know what led him to migrate to California, where my father was born, and then to Florida, where he’s buried, beside his wife, who died the year I was born.
My family didn’t talk about my father or his family much. I was an adult by the time I consciously knew his name was George, but I wish I had had his name in my mind when I was much younger. I could have pictured him getting out of bed to take me to a movie, just as Grandpa George got out of bed to accompany Charlie to the Chocolate Factory.
