My grandmother passed away about a year ago at the age of ninety-six. Her name was Dorothy Frances, and she played a pivotal role in my life. I remember her as my "fancy" grandma. I'm not sure she was fond of little children because my memories of her only date back to when I was five. But nonetheless they are very special memories.
Everyday before school I would go over to her house and sit at her kitchen table. I would watch her smoke cigarettes and listen to her reminisce about her life. I heard some of the stories so many times that I feel sometimes as though they were my own memories. I have flashbacks of living during the Great Depression and giving birth to six children to this day.
We would discuss all the hot topics over coffee, black, no sugar. That is correct, I drank coffee regularly at the age of eight with an eighty year old woman. She loved to play bridge and surprisingly Bruce Springsteen, except, after he left his wife, she lost all use for him. If there was one thing that would put you on the bad side of my grandmother, it would be to leave your wife for another woman or come over to this country illegally.
She was rarely open with her affections. Every time I would talk to her on the phone I would say "I love you grandma" and she would reply with something that basically meant "Goodbye". But she was always there for me. She lived only two blocks away from us, and when upset, I would run away to the side of her house. I could hear her on the phone with my father saying "no Vickie isn't here". She would then yell my name from her front porch, and I couldn't not respond to my grandma.
She was a woman of her time. She saw an entire century. She buried two sons and her husband. She was a classy lady who loved cigarettes and dessert. Oh yeah..and the Republican Party, but nobody is perfect.
I love you grandma. I don't need you to say it back.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
Bestow my heart.
I was in class the other night and a student asked a question that didn't pertain to the topic. My teacher let him know that we would get to that question later on in the material. I looked over at the young man and saw him take his hand and snap his finger in a disappointed fashion and a part of me fell in love. Now I don't know this person's name and I doubt I ever will. But there was something about his aura that my soul knew.
Doesn't that sound strange? He was so awkward looking. I bet he's only twenty, roughly. His face was covered by facial hair and he had a ratty red t-shirt. But I think the most endearing quality was the thick bottle glasses. The last two sentences were written with complete sincerity, not my normal sarcastic tone. It was the above characteristics that struck my heart with a sense of familiarity.
Maybe it's that part of me that never felt cool enough. Who always felt like she had to be the funniest, the most outrageous, the most charming, because inside she was just a girl with facial hair and bottle glasses. Okay that last sentence was written with shades of my usual sarcasm, but you get my point. I became intrigued by him.
In our society we get to know people so often because they exude something we think we lack or they will put us in the "in" crowd. We're constantly striving to be attractive and surround ourselves with aesthetic beauty in hopes that we'll prove something to the world about what we look like. How many times have I passed judgement on someone without even speaking a word in their direction? You don't want to be too pretty, you'll become threatening and you don't want to be too plain, you'll be considered boring. You must align yourself to a certain set of standards that you will never actually figure out.
In the midst of all this internal confusion, this boy's gesture melted my heart. I looked at him as we were leaving class and I thought about who I am and where I come from. It was so lovely that one person who decided not to go with the restraints of conformity could make me feel like I belong.
If I find out that he's actually thirty, I will suggest he do something about that shaggy beard and put on a decent shirt.
Doesn't that sound strange? He was so awkward looking. I bet he's only twenty, roughly. His face was covered by facial hair and he had a ratty red t-shirt. But I think the most endearing quality was the thick bottle glasses. The last two sentences were written with complete sincerity, not my normal sarcastic tone. It was the above characteristics that struck my heart with a sense of familiarity.
Maybe it's that part of me that never felt cool enough. Who always felt like she had to be the funniest, the most outrageous, the most charming, because inside she was just a girl with facial hair and bottle glasses. Okay that last sentence was written with shades of my usual sarcasm, but you get my point. I became intrigued by him.
In our society we get to know people so often because they exude something we think we lack or they will put us in the "in" crowd. We're constantly striving to be attractive and surround ourselves with aesthetic beauty in hopes that we'll prove something to the world about what we look like. How many times have I passed judgement on someone without even speaking a word in their direction? You don't want to be too pretty, you'll become threatening and you don't want to be too plain, you'll be considered boring. You must align yourself to a certain set of standards that you will never actually figure out.
In the midst of all this internal confusion, this boy's gesture melted my heart. I looked at him as we were leaving class and I thought about who I am and where I come from. It was so lovely that one person who decided not to go with the restraints of conformity could make me feel like I belong.
If I find out that he's actually thirty, I will suggest he do something about that shaggy beard and put on a decent shirt.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)