My grandmother actually served as my father figure. Born November 15, 1913, she would be 110 years old today. I shudder to think of what kind of insufferable, officious, know-it-all I would be today, were it not for her intervention and influence.
After her divorce from my father, my mother, brothers and I moved in with my grandmother when I was three years old and lived with her until her death from Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS—also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease) in 1982. She was a no-nonsense taskmaster, but she also was incredibly mischievous, creative and intelligent.
Here are, in no particular order, a few of my most pivotal memories of her that shaped who I am today:
The Straight Dope: When I was recovering from my second open heart surgery, I had become a bit of an attention addict, not satisfied unless I was at the center of the spotlight. She sat down across from a six-year-old me, looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Molly, I love you. You’re my granddaughter, and I’m so glad you’re still here. But I see the way you’ve wrapped your mother around your little finger, because she saw you on that operating table and thought you were going to die. I just want you to know: that nonsense you use on her is not going to cut it with Grandma.” Mic drop.
The Rebel: During her senior year of high school, a brand new building was erected. Indoor plumbing of this level was considered state of the art at the time; the showers had running water. My grandmother and her best friend Grace broke into the school to take showers when no one else was around before the building was officially open to the public. My grandmother was also one of the first women in town to wear pants. There’s a picture of her next to the clothesline behind her childhood home, standing in the “star pose,” hands on hips and legs separate, so that the viewer can tell that she is indeed wearing pants, and not a skirt.
The Comic: When I was a little girl, Grandma would let me stay up late with her to watch the comic on Johnny Carson. This is how I was introduced to the comic genius of Steve Martin, a pre-SVU Richard Belzer, David Letterman, and Andy Kaufman, among others.
The MacGyver-er: When I was stumped about finding a solution to something, she would prompt me by saying, “Pretend you’re alone.” If I was really stuck, she would interject by dropping hints and clues so that I could use critical thinking to arrive at solutions. Performing this internal flow-chart of options was one of the ways I cultivated resourcefulness and ingenuity (a trait I flex to this day).
The Writer: My grandmother LOVED language and words. She taught me at an early age the science of Scrabble® (including the fact that it’s not a word game). It’s math. When I was in the hospital, she would ask me to learn a word a day from the dictionary, and use it in a sentence when she would visit. I’ve written previously of our “First Letter Word Game,” which was a contest that she and I would play to see who could think of the most words beginning with a chosen letter. As a child, I was also extraordinarily stubborn; my grandma called me “bull-headed.” One day, after being exhausted by my obstinance, my punishment was to look up and write out the definition for “incorrigible,” and then taping it to the refrigerator, where it stayed for a week.
The Drill Sergeant: When it was time to sweep the kitchen floor, if I did a poor job of it, she would dump out the dust pan, telling me to do it again (until I did the job properly). “Do it right or do it twice” was one of her phrases. She couldn’t and wouldn’t abide half-assed work. In fact, using the phrase, “half-assed” was one of the few instances where she would use profanity. In her opinion, “people who swore habitually lacked the mental faculties to summon an alternative phrase.”
The Pragmatist: A regular family story told ’round the holidays was that of my grandma’s brinkmanship with the local high school principal on Laundry Day. Grandma had six children, and in those days, it was against the dress code to wear dungarees (denim jeans) to school. Since all of her kids’ chinos were in the wash, Grandma sent my uncle Bruce to school wearing ironed Bermuda shorts and a collared shirt. He was sent home, instructed to change attire. Exhausted, she sent Bruce back to school in a rumply, dirty pair of chinos. Much like the shooting gallery duck, Uncle Bruce was sent home again to change his outfit. Using the nuclear option, Grandma sent Uncle Bruce back to school in his tuxedo. He didn’t return until the end of the school day.
The Shopper: On certain Saturdays, Grandma and I would head “to town” for a day of lunch and shopping. Our first stop was always the Walgreens lunch counter, where she would have a cup of coffee and a salad; I had a grilled cheese and a Coke. From there, we’d head to the furriers, the china and flatware store, finally ending up at the department store. Our first stop was the millinery section, followed by stationery (which is why, to this day, I LOVE quality paper and a pen with the proper heft). The store had an elevator attendant who would announce the floors as the doors slid open: “Fourth Floor: Ladies Foundations.” By the way, my grandmother would sooner eat dirt than to call underwear anything but foundational garments.
The Manners Maven: Once in awhile, my grandmother would hold what she called “State Dinner Sundays,” where our dinner table was laid out with the appropriate place settings—finger bowls, salt cellars, fish forks—you name it, we had it. She taught us how to eat in the Continental Style, where to leave napkins upon leaving the table—all manner of dining shorthand. Her goal was to make sure we knew how to navigate every occasion from fish fry to dignitary functions. For that, I am eternally grateful, because at one point, I accompanied my then-husband to various events as part of his work that took us to global capitols.
She was an amazing, complex woman. I’m glad she was there for me. Happy Birthday, Grandma.
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