Since I took a blogging break to do some catching up (wise I was, because I got my annual March “crud” and would be too exhausted to move if I were still in catch-up mode) I have been thinking about what my first non-meme post would be. All kinds of ideas have been through my head, and most of them will probably make it to posts, but as usual, something hit me out of the blue. I was visiting another blog when I found this post:
http://whispering-hope.blogspot.com/2009/03/another-dont-make-me-slap-you-with-my.html
This post made me decide to write a little about my mother’s family. (A small part of this post is what I wrote in the comment I left for her post.) For those of you who have been readers of my blog for a while, you know that my mother died too young and that I want to tell her story. But the story is long, and it is complicated, and it is mostly not pretty. And sometimes I do not even know why I want to tell it, but it seems to me there are lessons to be learned from it. I know that all through my own life, I have learned a lot about human behavior (mostly things to avoid) from my mother’s family.
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The first solid memories I have of my grandmother were when I was 4 or 5. She and my grandfather lived in the mountains in Colorado in a house that was mostly underground. I lived with my parents and younger brother in Missouri. I know my grandparents must have visited other than when my brother and I were born, but I do not remember. And I do not remember any earlier trips to Colorado. Maybe there were some, but it is possible there were not. During that first memory, I have almost no recollection of my grandfather. He was quiet and patient, and I think mostly stayed out of the way because the hen of the house pecked him whenever he came too near.
My memory is of my brother and I helping bake Christmas cookies. It is almost as if I could stand across the room and see my brother and myself pressing the pink and green cookie dough with our chubby hands. We were standing on chrome-framed chairs, silhouetted against the kitchen window which was high above the sink because it was at ground level. I remember my grandmother’s voice that grated even then telling us to do this different and don’t do that. She had prepared the dough ahead of time and cut it into pieces for us, but not one piece that we touched was “right” to her.
My grandmother was never a person who was loving to me. Even from this first memory, there is nothing stored in my mind about her being kind or doting–only correcting. The other main memory from this visit was of her dogs. She had two Chihuahuas, one blond and one black. The black one was my aunt’s dog when she lived at home. She had trained him to be mean. I remember walking with my back to the wall the entire visit, as far away from the dog as I could be so he would not bite me. But he still did. He ran across the room and grabbed two of my fingers and ripped flesh right off of them when I was possibly not being quite cautious enough. At this point my grandmother chastised me for getting too close. I can understand being severe if I were getting too close to the dog as a warning, but after being bitten (by a dog that probably should have been locked up says this animal lover), I think comforting, not chastisement would have been more appropriate. I never remember a single feeling of warmth and love coming from her.
When I was nine, my grandparents moved near us. My “other grandmother” had always been so kind, and I was hoping that my maternal grandmother living near us would make us close. It did not. I felt like I could never please her. (I later learned I was right about that.) But I had friends who had the BEST grandmother. My best friend was part of a giant family that spent weekends and holidays together at one another’s homes or at their lake retreats. Everyone adored the grandmother to whom they affectionately referred as “Granny.” I so wanted to have a family like that. I loved that my friend and her siblings and cousins had a pet name for their grandmother. I called my grandmother “Grandma.” I thought about this for a while, and decided I would start calling her “Granny” as an affectionate term. I had a label maker. (You know, the ones in the 70’s that embossed sticky tape with white letters and numbers? I had to squeeze it to make the letters, not key them in and wait for them to print out.) I made a sticky label for my grandmother that said, “World’s Greatest Granny.” Looking back I have no idea why I thought to put “World’s Greatest,” but it was probably to win her affection. I guess I was trying to repair something that I knew was terribly broken, but that I had no skills to fix. It was my 9-year-old attempt at covering her trespasses against me and completely forgiving and starting fresh, although until I was 30, I would always think the trespasses were my own fault.
My grandmother accepted my childish gift with all chilliness. I remember feeling deflated at her reaction, and knowing that yet again I had done something wrong, but not understanding it at all. In all fairness she stuck it to the dashboard of her car for a while, but I think that only served to remind her how much she resented it. She did not want to be called “Granny.” She did not like it. How could I say such a thing to her? She told all her family who would listen and all her friends (who I knew from church) how disrespectful I was. I know this because this was one of the many times my aunts and people from church came to me demanding to know why I treated my grandmother so poorly.
MY GRANDMOTHER HELD THIS INCIDENT (AMONG OTHERS) AGAINST ME THE REST OF HER LIFE, which was 31 more years. My motives were pure and innocent, but she only resented my gift. She brought it up from time to time until she died. No, not always to me. My relationship with her ended much before her death, but her complaints about me sometimes would filter their way back to my ears. When she died, two of her daughters were present. My mother was not because she had already died. A couple of my cousins were present. But most of the family was not. She did not die (or live, for that matter) surrounded by people who loved her. This was because she did not love people.
Is there a point to this story? Yes. But it is not about me. You do not need to leave me comments of sympathy about her treatment of me because I have dealt with that and put it aside long, long ago. But as I have said, there are things to learn from this. What I think can be learned here is that if children love you enough to call you anything that is kind in their hearts, let them do it! So what if it is not your favorite word! Because it is from a child or grandchild should MAKE it your favorite word! I never liked the word “Mama.” My brother and I called my mom that; I am sure that is what she called herself as we grew up. But I never liked it. I called her “Mom” when I was older. I taught my girls to call me “Mommy” and hoped that when they felt too old for that, it would go to “Mom,” or even “Mother.” But they call me “Mama.” I do not know why, but coming out of their lips, it is beautiful. They say it in all sweetness, and it is endearing to me.
So if a person decides to be so picky as to choose what s/he is called by a child and be hateful about it, then s/he should be willing to accept the consequences of alienating the child. It will not happen overnight, but that attitude will not stop there. It will pelt the child until they are so battered that they have to get away to recover and find out who they are. And if the child is not strong enough to get out from that oppressive personality, then morbid selfishness will be passed to another generation.
As a positive way to end this, a little story about Grandma D. When she was first introduced to our family–on her honeymoon with my father–she walked in the door and hugged us all as if we were her long, lost family. We sat down and chatted. She treated my daughters like I am sure she treats her own grandchildren. She told them they could call her “Nana” because that is what all her other grandchildren call her. My oldest daughter (age 5 at the time) got my attention to take me away from the hubbub. She told me privately that she did not want to call her new grandmother “Nana,” but “Grandma D.” I asked why. She said because she did not have “Grandma Kate” anymore, and she wanted to feel like it was her grandmother. “Nana” did not seem like a grandmother’s name to her. I told her to tell my dad’s wife this. She did, and “Grandma D” graciously accepted the child’s love and has been know as such since. When she dies, it will be as she has lived, surrounded by those who love her, from old and new families.
March 4, 2009 at 1:36 am
Sweet moments.
Your “My world” post is amazing.
March 4, 2009 at 1:55 am
When i wrote “sweet moments” before, it was for Grandma D. I’m sure you’re happy that your kids won’t have the memories you have from your grandmother. They’ll have sweet moments with their Grandma D. And you’ll, too.
March 4, 2009 at 5:23 am
I wonder why your grandmother found your attempt at being loving so painful. One can only imagine what her own childhood must have been like.
On a recent family project (for Purim), I have been trying so hard not to “correct” my children’s crafts. I try to “suggest.” Not easy, to find that boundary between teaching and criticizing.
March 4, 2009 at 8:21 am
First—love the picture with you and your kids.
Second—I hated that dog. Still can’t believe that he later had a namesake (who remained good-natured in spite of everything, I might add).
Third—Grandma D. is awesome!
March 4, 2009 at 8:49 am
Grandma D sounds like a wonderful lady; thank goodness there are people like her who have real, honest to goodness, love for all children!
This is a great post, and while I know you don’t want sympathy, I have to say you were the ‘winner’ in that scenario. God help those who refuse kindness. I don’t understand it, at all.
March 4, 2009 at 9:23 am
This post is a fascinating personal account of feelings and personal relationships. I would hope that putting the ideas and feelings into a written form brought some resolution to some unfinished “loose ends.”
March 4, 2009 at 9:27 am
The Mama Sandwich makes me smile.
March 4, 2009 at 9:41 am
Thank goodness for people like Grandma D! Great post and I LOVE the winter photo. Amazing…
March 4, 2009 at 10:02 am
I am so thankful to have warm and wonderful memories of both of my grandmothers. I called them both grandma but added their last names to that when referring to them to someone else. I think your grandmother missed out on an awful lot by not learning to show love.
March 4, 2009 at 11:44 am
The world between a 10-year old and a 70-year old. There is a lot that can go wrong.
March 4, 2009 at 11:55 am
Very touching story. And one I can relate to. My paternal Grandmother was similar to yours. She mellowed in her old age, but was unable to win my love, because of things said when I was young. You have heard people say, “I love her because she is the mother of my children”?
I loved her because she was my Grandmother and that is the only reason. No affection whatsoever.
I have grandkids now, and I do not want them to love me only because of that fact. My lesson has been learned, as is yours. Tis a shame that it had to be learned in this way and not by love.
March 4, 2009 at 1:48 pm
I find “Granny” so suit and tender as “Mommy”. I can’t understand how this little thing made your grandmother so agry that she behaved so hard and so she lost your love and affection for ever!
March 4, 2009 at 1:49 pm
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March 4, 2009 at 1:50 pm
Who knows why some people are so hard to love. I actually read this post in fear– what makes a person become like that, am I in danger of becoming like that?
I had grandparents that we visited every year and it was obvious that we were not the favoured grandchildren and sometimes were scolded or treated harshly. I know now that it was their disapproval of my Mom and the way she was raising us, but as a nine year old, those hurts go deep. Brilliant story, thank you for sharing it. Grandma D rocks. 🙂
March 4, 2009 at 1:57 pm
Although I’ll miss some minor details because of the language, I think you wrote a touching story about your youth.
It’s a pity some people can’t replace themselves in a child’s world and thinking.
Luckely I’ve had a wonderful pair of grandparents, and I hope to be a great grandfather myself. I hope you’ll be a wonderful granny sometime … 🙂
March 4, 2009 at 2:21 pm
Louise, a very moving story. I’ve learned so much from my ancestors, mostly after they’re dead. And many of them learned from the not necessarily good examples set by their elders. It’s so important to break bad family patterns as soon as possible.
Thank you for sharing this lesson.
March 4, 2009 at 2:34 pm
Wonderful “sandwich” picture!I told a friend today that I’m going to see my parents in TX this weekend and she immediately said “Doesn’t your DD have a special relationship with your mother?” and I said a resounding “YES!” How wonderful to grow up with sweet grandmothers (and grandfathers)! I loved each of my grandmothers for who they were – honest, kind loving women who loved ME very much, even if I wasn’t a blood relative to all of them. I know how you feel about Mom vs Mama – my oldest DD refers to me as Mama (or some spelling with the same pronunciation) while I always
sign my texts, e-mails and letters “Mom”. But that is okey-dokey with me. Hope your March crud keeps marching out the door very quickly.
March 4, 2009 at 5:54 pm
At least you had two grandmas and the other one wasn’t like that. I would be happy for my grandson to call me anything! I think he will say Nana as he’s said it once before and it is not the name I would have chosen, I’m in my 40s not my 90s like my nanny was. 🙂
March 4, 2009 at 10:54 pm
Both wonderful images, Louise. The first one is really an amazing snow landscape.
I retain a fine memory of my grandmother. Often we played together with affection: I was the teacher (about 8 years old!) and she was the pupil!
March 5, 2009 at 2:52 am
in greece we have a lot of people who like to play the role of misery poo in the family. whenever they are around, they enjoy making people feel like shit. for instance: i might say good morning to one of those misery poos (simply because most normal people greet others in this way). misery poo will remind me that it’s not actually a very good morning (for her, that is) and is surprised that i even wished her a good morning.
believe me louise, i know this side of life well. i live very close to someone who is like that cranky grandmama of yours…
March 5, 2009 at 4:09 am
I’m glad you’re writing about this. And it’s great to have you back!
March 5, 2009 at 9:52 am
Louise: We are called Nana and Papa by the grand kids. Thanks for sharing your story we us.
Thankfully I can remember my grandparents with great fondness. Being the first grandson in the linage did have them treat me special as was a custom of that generation.
March 5, 2009 at 11:40 am
On a selfish note, I am glad that you had all these experiences growing and that you selflessly shared these “memories”, or anecdotes with us. Personally, I find it better reading than any book on my shelf right now (which makes you wonder what types of book I fill my shelf with).
I surely hope you would compile these anecdotes and make a book, I’d save to buy me a copy.
God bless.
March 5, 2009 at 12:04 pm
Hi Louise!
Sorry I couldn’t visit you for the last two weeks! I’m trying to catch-up and see the wonders you have around!
OK Mama, Great post… ;)) Truly!!
Loved to see the tree, even if it’s at a Lawyer’s firm… 😉
The sky picture is awesome, and I would take that key lime pie…
Meanwhile, one of the most beautiful Forts in India waits you and your comments at Blogtrotter: – The Amber Fort! Enjoy and have a great weekend!
March 5, 2009 at 1:58 pm
I’m glad you chose the blue sky. It’s a very lovely sky!
March 5, 2009 at 3:34 pm
I had such a, thankfully, uneventful and loving upbringing that whenever I read of people who didn’t I find it quite harrowing, however I think it is important to read, none the less. Thank you for being so frank Louise, and also so thought provoking, I can’t even imagine. I was so happy to read the end of your story when your children met their ‘new’ Grandma and the final picture were they are feeding the donkies together shows such warmth and love. Thankyou for such an interesting and honest post.
March 5, 2009 at 3:57 pm
The beauty of the sky!
March 5, 2009 at 4:06 pm
Very nice! I love how the keep blue sky mixes with the texture of the clouds.
March 5, 2009 at 5:14 pm
There is always a reason why people are the way they are. Your unloving grandmother likely had growing up experiences that created her attitudes. I am glad you were able to move beyond the hurt. A well-told story that we can all learn from. I love the picture of the momma sandwich!
March 5, 2009 at 8:25 pm
I love the skywatch photo but the “mamma sandwich” is just the most. What a fabulous keepsake this will be one day. Have a wonderful weekend, Louise.
March 6, 2009 at 12:23 am
Your SWF post is lovely and your previous post is so poignant. Thank you for sharing and for stopping by.
Smiles :}
March 6, 2009 at 2:05 am
It’s very kind that you shared your story and it was very well written. I’m sure all mothers and grandmothers can use a little help to remind them to show their love to children. I think back myself to the time when my daughters were very young and wish I could have had the time and used it to show more patience when teaching them certain things. I corrected that later on, but I always remind them of that time, so they will take care to do that for their own children.
March 6, 2009 at 1:27 pm
Louise, I can sure relate to a lot of this…but I won’t go into those details. What I will say is when I married my husband I gained a grandma like I had always longed to have…and she was a grandma to the whole neighborhood…EVERYONE called her Grammy. I seriously doubt if they knew her real name.
March 6, 2009 at 1:49 pm
A beautiful post Louise! You said your Mother’s life was complicated-I think it helps us to know there are others out there who have complicated lives too-that we are not alone in the icky issues that sometimes surround our families. And to know you overcame the issues is an inspiration.
March 6, 2009 at 3:53 pm
Beautiful photo!! I love the different shades of blue:)
March 7, 2009 at 6:07 pm
(I hated that dog. When my kids ask for a chihuahua, you can imagine my answer.)
Grandma D is lovely. I’m glad your girls will know what it’s like to have that kind of grandmother.
As for the rest of it, you know how I feel.
March 8, 2009 at 4:57 pm
Love the SWF picture Louise, a touch of Spring and the blossom too is wonderful.
As a Grandma I love to see children smile with joy when they visit, sharing little secrets, ask to play favourite games, ask for explanation when they are unsure.
There is so much pleasure and joy in being a grandma, what has this person missed.
THE WORLD.
March 10, 2009 at 12:22 pm
i’m glad you are changing this story for your kids… creating such a loving atmosphere. and Grandma D sounds wonderful!
March 13, 2009 at 6:39 pm
This was such a moving post! Wow–there are people out there who just can’t accept the pure, perfect love of a child. But, you got over it well. To tell us the story so we would know how unimportant what a child calls you should be, was a wonderful thing to do! It isn’t what they call you, right? Just that they DO CALL YOU!!!!!! I am very happily “Grandmama”….my daughter had wanted me to be “Grandmother” just like her Grandmother and my Grandmother were, but my sweet Grandson could get “Grandmama” into his baby vocabulary, and go no further, and it stuck. I love it!
April 1, 2009 at 10:03 am
Wow. I honestly cannot wrap my head around this idea. I am not bragging but I truly have been blessed by my family relationships. It is hard for me to imagine not having a truly loving relationship with my grandmothers. Although there is this type of situation in my extended family and I have a hard time understanding that even though I know much of that stems from the use of pain meds for much to long but that is a whole different story. I so agree with you on accepting the name a child bestows upon you. My mom always graciously accepted being called ‘mumma’ even though she would occasionally comment that she wasn’t a flower and would rather be called something else. I think this egged us teenage girls on even more but now as grown ups we now call her mother. My dad on the other hand was always called ‘daddy’ unless we were talking about him.