Sounding Out Life

“Where is the Jack and Jill book!?” I demanded, pounding my tiny foot into the soft carpet,“I want to read the Jack and Jill book!”

My grandma was confused, to say the least, but answered calmly, “What Jack and Jill book?”

“The one on the table! I want to read it!” I continued to demand. Now she understood. The book was actually titled Sally, Dick, and Jane, although three-year-old me couldn’t have known that. At least I couldn’t have known until a few moments later, when she sat me down on the couch and helped me sound each word out.

~

Donna and Larry Davis are the names of my grandparents. I know this because my mom uses their first names when she’s trying to be funny, but I suppose I would have found out on my own when I watched them sign my school planners and contracts. My grandma signs her name in textbook cursive, the way you might expect from a former elementary school teacher. My grandpa’s signature is more rushed, but still legible. A coach and manager for his entire career, he likes a job done right and despises standing in lines. I still know how to read cursive because it is what they use in the frequent notes they write to me to brighten up my days.

Their house is and has always been so clean that it could be a real-estate model. Staying there as a child, I learned the rules quickly: always use a coaster with your drink (the wood will stain), always make your bed in the morning (it's just good practice), always wash your dish after you eat (can’t have the plates piling up), and the list goes on. Either golf, tennis, or the news is always playing in the background; Donna gave up on curbing Larry’s TV addiction long before I was born. There’s another rule: don’t touch the remote! It has always smelled like vanilla lotion, unless my grandma is cooking and the mouth-watering scent of ham and mashed potatoes takes over. They have moved house since I was a kid- gotten new friends, new hobbies, new talking points- but this atmosphere has always been sure.

~

I sat at my seat at the kitchen table, the one I sat in for every game or meal I ever had at my grandparent’s home. We were playing Parcheesi, an uncharacteristically cutthroat favorite of ours. I was winning by a long shot.

I rolled them once, double sixes. I get to go again

“Emma! You have to roll on the placemat. You’re going to ruin the wood if you keep throwing the dice at it like that.” My grandpa grumbled. I assumed he was just angry about losing (he tends to pout during board games), so I rolled again without care. Double fours, now I’m in trouble.

“Emma Kaye! You know this table belonged to your Great Great Grandmother, do you really want to scratch it?” My grandma chimed in. I sighed and rolled for a third time, firmly on the placemat. Three rolls of doubles in a row and one of your pawns is out. I wasn’t winning anymore.

~

With a working single mother and a reliably-flakey father, my grandparents raised me in a lot of ways. They used to live two hours away from me, but my best memories from childhood are still from their home. When I remember what it was like to be young, I think of scheming to squirt my grandpa with a water gun out on the porch, laughing when my grandma put too much flour in our sugar cookies, or asking to get McDonalds ice cream cones almost every time I saw them. They made sure that my childhood was filled with joy. I know I spent a lot of that time being annoyed that I couldn’t watch ICarly whenever I wanted or that I had to put a placemat down before I colored, but those aren’t the feelings that stick with you. What sticks with you are the little moments that gave you life.

I still remember the excitement of finally reading my grandma a full Sally, Dick, and Jane book. Dick, Jane, and their little sister Sally had a perfectly stable childhood; their adventures included talks with their happily married parents and games among close-knit siblings. The cookie-cutter storylines felt like fantasy to me and the binding was wearing down on each book, but they were what my grandma had known how to teach and they satisfied my hunger for words. Within those pages was my refuge, my safety net. Once I had finished reading all those books, she bought me more: The Mickey Mouse Birthday Book, Strawberry Shortcake and Her Friends, Disney’s Pinocchio. She made flashcards with vocabulary words on them and celebrated with me when I finally pronounced the word “the”. That’s not even where the teaching ended– I learned how to count money while playing grocery store with her, I learned how to sew while helping her with my Halloween costumes, and I learned how to bake while prepping for our fabulous princess tea parties. I may not have related to Sally, Dick, or Jane, but no part of my education or self-worth ever suffered thanks to my grandma’s attention and care.

This sense of security was only heightened by my grandpa. When I was little and there was a spider in my house, my mom would yell, “Call Larry!” and I would immediately do so. Of course, I got over my spider phobia around age eight (my mom has not been so lucky), but there are still a million reasons I could think of to call him: if I got a flat tire and needed someone to talk me through changing it, if I broke my leg and needed to get to the hospital, or if I had a school project and needed a poster board from Walmart. I have absolutely no doubt that, no matter how far from me could ever be, he will always come to kill that spider. Despite all of his hard work though, he is not distant. He takes me golfing when he can, he sends me news articles he thinks I’ll find interesting, and he always rushes to the table when I ask to play a game of dominoes. His actions have taught me how to work hard, push forward, and care for others. When you leave him alone too long, he’ll fall asleep in his chair, the news or latest game still playing in front of him. I used to find that sight funny, so I would yell “Boo!” at him or steal the remote, but now I know to let him rest.

~

“If you forget what to do, just make a silly face and start pointing up like this,” my grandma gestured, “That’ll make them all laugh.”

It was my big moment, standing on the stage in front of the parents of every fifth-grade student in Old Post Elementary School. I walked up to the microphone, ready to sing my big solo, and my grandma’s advice was stuck in my head. As I looked out to the crowd, there was a twinge of panic as I realized my mom- sick with the flu- and my dad- stuck in traffic- weren’t there to see me. But then I saw my grandparents, wide smiles and cameras ready, and no gimmick was necessary.

“You didn’t even have to make a funny face!” My grandma hugged me after the show. My grandpa was next, promising he’d filmed the whole thing to show to Mom when we got home.

~

In some ways, Larry and Donna can’t contribute as they used to. Jumping around on tennis courts his whole life eventually took a toll on Larry’s back and feet. I remember sitting in the hospital waiting for him to get out of surgery, my mom telling me that I shouldn’t ask him to pick me up anymore. I shuffle the Uno cards now to keep Donna from upsetting her arthritis and I understand when they can’t sit in hard chairs long enough to stay through big events. Through all of this, I know it will be okay because (as much as they love to coddle me) my grandparents have taught me how to thrive. I took my first steps towards my grandpa, so I don’t need him to carry me. I demonstrated the “bridge” shuffle for my grandma years ago, so I don’t need her to take every turn. I gain confidence through their words every day, so I don’t need them to watch all the shows I’m in. We’re all growing older, and I am so lucky that they have given me the tools to grow with them.

As I move through my everyday life, I see my grandparent’s influence everywhere: in sugar cookies, golf clubs, and old books. I know that in the advice they have given me and the lessons they have taught me over the years, they have shaped not only the way that I interact with the world, but also the way that I view myself. They may not have been my primary caregivers, but they raised me. So now, when I walk into their house, I don’t scoff at the spotless countertops or the outdated decor; I notice the photo albums of my smiling face and scratched-up squirt guns sitting in the garage. I notice the collections of books and board games that have never collected dust on the shelves. I notice how much Larry and Donna’s neat little house has become my most cherished home.

~

“You still have this?” I wonder aloud. As I had gone to pick up the graduation pictures my grandma developed, below them was that Sally, Dick, and Jane book I’d demanded to read nearly sixteen years ago.

“Of course I did, you think you still remember how to read it?” she joked in the dry tone of voice that’s always made me laugh.

“You taught me pretty well, I think I could manage.” I quip back, but there's a sureness to the sentiment that rings true. As my eyes meet hers, I know she understands how much I mean it.