In my early-to-mid-teen years, for two weeks each summer, the Chadwick family rescued me from the farm in north Alabama and made me their honored guest in Birmingham. We were kin. Our mothers, Lois and Ruby, were sisters. Ruby was married to John Chadwick, a Birmingham policeman. The McKeever and Chadwick children were closely matched in age.
My brothers Ron and Glenn matched up with Bill Chadwick, the oldest of Johnny and Ruby’s four. I thought they were all daredevils.
Nelda Chadwick and I were almost identical in age. In between came Betty and Barbara Chadwick, lovely older cousins whom I idolized. (In case they read this, just a tad older, not much!)
Going from the drudgery of the farm to the excitement of the city–the soda fountain at the drug store, the street cars downtown, movies with Nelda, bike-riding, going to VBS at Calvary Baptist Church, carpet golf, but particularly, this wonderful loving family–made this the high point of my year.
To Bill Chadwick, perhaps 6 years my senior, I must have appeared as a little squirt. A nuisance. But he never made me feel that way.
In fact, he did some things that minister to me even today, over a half century later.