The Wonder of a Granny

Whether they are called Nana, 2-Mama, YaYa, Gammy, Mawmaw, Meemaw, or GiGI, in my mind, grandmothers should be the most loving people on earth.  I never met my grandmothers; they both died very young.  When a door closes … a window opens!  Soon after I married, my heart adopted my husband’s grandmother, and I loved her as my own till the day she met her reward.

I chose to be called “Granny” after seeing the feisty character, played by Irene Ryan, on the Beverly Hillbillies TV show.  I loved her lack of style in dressing and her ability to mimic a little mad hen when things didn’t go her way.

My absolute favorite scenes were when she would get so mad that she almost squawked.  Her very tall son-in-law, played by Buddy Ebsen, would carefully grab her from behind, pick her up off the floor and move her away from the soon-to-be physical confrontation.  I laughed as she flailed around with those awful worn-out boots in the air, as she was carried away for the protection of others.  I liked her tiny-frame spunk and the fact that she would defend her family to the death.  (FYI … Ms. Ryan was only 60 years old when she played the heavily-made-up part of Granny Clampett.)

I don’t wear my hair the same as Granny Clampett, and I haven’t found worn-out boots in my size that feel good.  But, in 1993, I became known as Granny.  Our first grandchild called me Gwanny (he spoke a few years like Elmer Fudd), and the second one called me Wee; it may have been because he instinctively knew I had a weak bladder, but I digress.  He also referred to my house as wee-house and his grandad as wee-daddy.

When the second grandchild was a toddler, it was safer to carry him through a shopping mall than to try to hold his hand and let him walk.  A stroller was of no use unless there was a chain and padlock to hold him in.  We were walking down the mall one day after work.  I was carrying the onery toddler, and for once, he seemed to be content, so I paid no attention to him at all, and I became happily zoned.

A stranger passed me and stopped a few feet away.  He said something to me, but being hard of hearing, I didn’t understand.  After several attempts to get my attention, he shouted, “Hey lady, do you know that kid is biting the buttons off your vest and spitting them out over your shoulder?”

My absent-minded mental state was broken, and I looked down to see those big brown eyes staring into mine as if to innocently say, “What?”

My vest, which had previously been adorned with a row of buttons all the way down the front, now looked like a reject from a donations bin.  And sure enough, there was a small trail of buttons on the floor like breadcrumbs from the Hansel and Gretel story! Thank goodness he didn’t choke on one, and if he ingested any, they didn’t stunt his growth!

Grandmothers do not always have the luxury of seeing their grandchildren grow up, but I did, and I loved every minute.  Children don’t need expensive gifts or outrageous trips to form an attachment to their grandparents.  My grands are grown now and starting families of their own.  I’ll bet they remember family wiffleball games in Granny’s backyard with fried chicken lunches more than the presents we worked so hard to afford.

(Excerpt from a collection of life stories, “I Will Sing to Them Again in Heaven” by Delane Melton)