by Lillian Smith Boyce, daughter of George C. – Julina

It was very important to Grandpapa to be called Grandpapa and have his mamas called Grandmama. One winter while I was living at the Beehive
House and going to school in Salt Lake, my cousin, Mahala, came to go to the theatre with me. As we left we kissed our grandparents good bye and I said, “Good bye Grandmama and Grandpapa.”

Mahala did as I did but said, “Goodbye Grandma and Grandpa.”

He called her back and had her repeat what she had said. Then he said, “I don’t think I feel like a pa and I don’t think Grandmama looks like a ma. Couldn’t you do better than that?”

Mahala repeated it with Grandmama and Grandpapa and he said, “Now that’s better,” and kissed us and hugged us again and sent us off to the
theatre.

While we were living on the farm on 8th West, Florence, Ina and I were spending the afternoon with the Cook children while Mama and Papa went
to town. We were racing through the field. Someone ran in front of me and I tripped and fell, hurting my arm. Everyone wondered if my arm was
broken but we lived way out in the country and there were no doctors there.

Next morning Grandpapa and Uncle David came out to the farm. When he saw my arm he was sure it was broken so they took me back to the Beehive House. Dr. Wilcox came and while he was setting my arm, Grandpapa sat right next to me on a chair and Uncle Wesley walked around the room singing.

One evening Grandpapa was walking around with baby Miriam and I went up to talk to her. I was wearing a headband around my head. This was the style for teenage girls and we called them headache bands. Grandpapa said, “Baby Miriam, I’m wondering what is the matter with cousin, Lillian. Is she tying her brains in?”

This was his way of teaching us a lesson. In these three experiences he taught me to show respect when addressing people, tenderness and
compassion, and that dress styles were not always the thing to follow.