Craig Tyson Adams

  Some folks, man, they’re like human time capsules for grudges. They get hung up on every little snub, every perceived insult, real or imagined. Nursing the slightest slight like fine wine. Just waiting for the perfect moment to unleash a torrent of pent-up vengeance and exact payback, like a shaken soda can aimed at the unsuspecting world. But let me tell you, this kind of grudge-hoarding is about as healthy as a diet of deep-fried Twinkies. It’s like a toxic sludge that slowly corrodes your soul. You might not see it, but trust me, folks can smell it a mile away. All that stewing and plotting can leave you etched with a permanent scowl or hunched over like Quasimodo from carrying the weight of the world’s injustices on your shoulders. Either way, it ain’t pretty. A memory like a steel trap ain’t a blessing, it’s a curse. Seriously, what’s the point of dwelling on some petty slight from years ago? It’s like trying to remember the name of every mosquito that ever bit you. It’s a waste

  A rare night, the whole family was sitting down for dinner, swapping stories about our wacky ancestors. The conversation turned to our opinionated Great-Grandma, and everyone was laughing so hard they were crying. That lady was a pistol. She could roast you to a crisp, but it was so funny you couldn't help but laugh along. Granny wasn't just the family comedian; she was a living, breathing history book. She could spin yarns that were passed down through generations for hours, and we were all amazed by her almost total recall. Her memory was sharper than a Ginsu knife, she could remember the smallest, most insignificant details. One day, my cousin got the bright idea to write down some of Granny's stories. Turns out, a lot of them check out! We had an uncle who knew the Wright Brothers, a cousin who served as a messenger under General Pershing in WWI, and even a relative who caught one of Buddy Holly's last gigs. But the one story that always stuck with me was one that