The flip side of the grandma coin

[susandennis]

My Grandma of The Great Hug was my Mom's mom. I had another grandmother - my Dad's mom. My Dad's mom was a grandmother cut out of an entirely different cloth.

She was a tall thin ugly looking woman from East Texas. She never used decent grammar. She never smiled. She certainly didn't hug. She had horse hair furniture and we were required to wear our Sunday School dresses at her house so her stupid couch scratched my thighs. It was at least something to think about during the endless hours we were forced to sit there while the grown ups chatted.

She firmly believed - and told you at every opportunity - that playing on wet grass gave you kidney trouble. (At the time, the only kidney I knew about was kidney beans which I didn't like so the fact that I might cause them trouble kind of delighted me.) She said that if you didn't get off the escalator in time it would eat your shoes and then your feet and then you. And goddamn that mean old bitch, every time I'm on an escalator even today, I get anxious.

She was cranky and whiny and she didn't like me either. She died a long while back, too and once in a while when I conjure on an afterlife, I see her sitting here snarling at me... 'come on in, my pretty... '

I've said this to her but I think in my next life, I do want to have aellia and John as my grandparents. I want to put on my gummies and go with John to feed the lambs. I want Penny to stand me up in a chair in the kitchen and get chocolate all over me. Plus, maybe if I was around them I'd get a cool British accent!

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<P><FONT face=Verdana size=2>My Grandma of The Great Hug was my Mom's mom. I had another grandmother - my Dad's mom. My Dad's mom was a grandmother cut out of an entirely different cloth.

She was a tall thin ugly looking woman from East Texas. She never used decent grammar. She never smiled. She certainly didn't hug. She had horse hair furniture and we were required to wear our Sunday School dresses at her house so her stupid couch scratched my thighs. It was at least something to think about during the endless hours we were forced to sit there while the grown ups chatted.

She firmly believed - and told you at every opportunity - that playing on wet grass gave you kidney trouble. (At the time, the only kidney I knew about was kidney beans which I didn't like so the fact that I might cause them trouble kind of delighted me.) She said that if you didn't get off the escalator in time it would eat your shoes and then your feet and then you. And goddamn that mean old bitch, every time I'm on an escalator even today, I get anxious.

She was cranky and whiny and she didn't like me either. She died a long while back, too and once in a while when I conjure on an afterlife, I see her sitting here snarling at me... 'come on in, my pretty... '

I've said this to her but I think in my next life, I do want to have <lj site="livejournal.com" user="aellia"> and John as my grandparents. I want to put on my gummies and go with John to feed the lambs. I want Penny to stand me up in a chair in the kitchen and get chocolate all over me. Plus, maybe if I was around them I'd get a cool British accent!

</P><P align=center><IMG src="http://www.susandennis.org/lj/graphics/gf/animals_fish_027.gif" ?></FONT></P>

Comments

[geordie.livejournal.com]

Looks like we're all doomed to take the rough with the smooth. At least your good one survived long enough for you to remember her. In my more charitable moments I like to think my surviving grandmother is the result of her upbringing and her tough post WWI upbringing. Her parents told my grandfather he wasn't good enough for her, perhaps he should have paid more attention.

[aellia.livejournal.com]

When we went to the local shop,on Sunday..there were couple with grandchildren,who were playing up for sweets and the man said that when he got them home he would cut off their arms and legs!
Words spoken in jest,but nevertheless,capable of doing such harm..course,I'm fired up to say something to them,but I get *the look* from John.
Aw...gummies..that's a new one..we call them wellies for short,here and you would be so welcome to stand on my kitchen chair,table,draining board or what whatever and if you look in the cupboard there will be plenty of Dolly Mixtures,if I don't get to them first!
xx

[susandennis]

Actually, I got the word gummies from my Kiwi friends. We don't even have them here - well, you can sometimes find them for kids but not for real people...

I did have one grandfather who was a big tease like the guy in the shop but we knew he was teasing.

[aellia.livejournal.com]

No wellies for big people!
The yuppies here wear green ones..I'm not a yuppy so mine are black :-)
And,yes..I expect the chidren were used to his way of talking...but what I hear mother's say, in the shop where I work..well,let's just say,it's a wonder I still have a job!

[unzeugmatic.livejournal.com]

It's considered practically treasonous in our culture to speak of our grandparents in anything other than sweet-fogged mythic tones, so it's startling but refreshing to see you write with clear-eyed honesty on the subject.

I've been thinking about this issue lately because in recent years I have come to meet cousins of my father who speak of my grandfather in worshipful, respectful tones. My grandfather was the intellectual of his family, and this is the myth still propounded twenty years after his death. But I find that I do not join in to this posthumous praise, and I don't have these warm fuzzy feelings. For this I feel quite guilty, because my grandfather was certainly kind and generous to me and I have no particular negative feelings or memories. It's just that I can't muster the teary grandpa emotion that seems to be expected of me.

So I've been thinking about why this should be so, and what I've come to conclude is that to best of my memory and knowledge my grandfather never showed any interest in knowing what I was like. He took note of my school grades and (until my father told him to stop) spoke to me often (and only) about why I should study medicine, but I doubt he could have told you anything at all that would distinguish me from any of my three brothers (or them from me), in terms of my general temperament or worldview or personality.

To a large extent this is simply a reflection of his time and culture .The fact that children have individual personalities is just not relevant to their place in the world. It's the child's "job" to pay attention to the adult, not the other way around. And yet I wouldn't say the same thing about any of my other grandparents, or my great-aunts and great-uncles for that matter. Even my father's mother, a flamboyant self-involved dramatic woman, could speak of her grandchildren as individuals (the better to complain about them, when she ran out of other relatives to feud with).Interestingly, I do have what you might call fuzzy feelings about my grandmother, despite the fact that she wasn't what you might call warm.

Again, I have absolutely no cause to complain in any way about my grandfather. Quite the opposite, on the surface. But I think that if you want children to remember you fondly when they grow up, you have to pay attention to them -- real honest attention -- when they are children. Your position as older relative is not sufficient in itself to warrant affection.