grandparents
Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
There used to be a jail there...
My grandmother said there was a jail there. On the beach. By the boarding school. On our reservation. My grandmother never talked about her past. I was shocked she’d uttered that much. I couldn’t say anything, for fear that she would stop talking. She didn’t say too much about the jail, just little bits and piece, but even as a child, I knew from my cultural teachings that when an elder was talking, you had to listen.
By Suge Acid Hawk5 years ago in Families
MC
My grandmother died. I loved her. This sounds like a weird thing to write after making such a statement but I did not know her as well as I would have liked to. She is my fathers mother. My parents divorced when I was a toddler, and contact with him was not consistent growing up. As a matter of fact we cultivated more of a relationship once I was an adult (and that still wasn't much). I would talk to his mother on the phone regularly as an adult. There was a period where I would try and visit her regularly but it didn't last long. We'd talk about education, real estate. When I was in my Masters program I had to interview a family member. I chose her. I was very interested in her life. I think most of that curiosity came from not being close to that side of my family, and really trying to figure out more about myself. When she told me about her life it gave me a lot of understanding about her, and why she was how she was. She was married all of her adult life. Had eight children. She didn't learn to drive until her husband, my grandfather died. She would always tell me that I was doing so good. To keep going to school and to not get married or have children lol. I always thought this was funny. Never knew why that was her stance until later. I couldn't imagine having eight children. Then being black, in the south, in the pre civil rights era in America, with a man exhibiting such behavior....I probably tell my granddaughter the same thing. She was a very smart woman. A strong woman. She played chess and not checkers so to speak. She helped him run his business. They say the only Black owned one in the area at that time. She did the books. I do have memories of walking in there with my mom. I still remember the way it smelled. Like oil, metal. I would ask for candy and change to go to the vending machine. There was also a candy store across the street that sold the stalest candy. But I was happy to get it. As much as I would like to make this longer, I don't have anything else to say. Because once again, I didn't know her as well as I would of had liked. But I was still very emotional. Very sad. I cried. I prayed. I talked with my brother and sister to support them, for them to support me. I soul searched. Trying to figure out if I was crying and sad just because someone died, or because someone I cared for and loved died. I've cried when people I don't even know have died. Because death is sad. But she was the one person on my fathers side I had the most conversations with. I guess what she represented to me is half of me. The half of me..... the connection to a side of me I'm not familiar with. I think most wonder sometimes why they are a certain way, or where particular characteristics came from. That type of validation can be helpful to your mind...your identity. My contact with her as a young woman validated that that part of me was there and functional.....somehow. I have to also admit it gave me a false sense of connection to that side of my family. It felt good to at least pretend it was there. Felt good to my heart. It felt good to my pride. Her death made me look at that. Process that and what I had propped it up in my mind to be. And tear it down. She was always nice to me. What she did share with me about her life helped me. Reflecting on it, now that I'm older I understand alot more. Thanks Grandmama Cain.
By Constant Favored 5 years ago in Families
The Power of Scissors
And then, she was gone. My machine sat dormant as my heart was broken. My mentor, my friend, my gallivanting buddy, my confidant, my heart - all that and so much more - left me with a hole that will never be filled. Gram was gone and each time I attempted to sew, my heart broke all over again as tears streamed down my face. What was once a sense of pride and accomplishment was now just pain.
By Dorene Duncan 5 years ago in Families
Gramma Lives On. Top Story - June 2021.
When I think back on my life, and my childhood, it seems that crocheting has always been a part of it. One of my grandmother’s was a knitter, and the other a crochetter, and I remember being quite young when I was drawn to that single hook. Now, I am not so sure if it was the actual art of crocheting that enticed me, or time spent with my Gramma –side by side on the couch as she showed me how to start. I was only 9-years-old when I first felt the cool touch of that stainless steel hook; and although I spent many years making long chains, or the odd dish cloth, my skills have grown exponentially since then.
By Maeple Fourest5 years ago in Families
Woo
I want to tell you about my Great Grandmother Woo. Her name was Mary Wason nee Congoo but everyone called her Woo. She was a beautiful Chinese, Aboriginal woman from Far North Queensland Australia and she was the sweetest little lady you could have ever had the privilege of meeting. Woo was my mother's mother's mother. If you had ever been loved by my Woo Woo, you didn't need to look for it anywhere else.
By Shahnee Hunter5 years ago in Families
Through Time
I never met my Grandma Elizabeth yet her example left a lasting impression giving me strength and courage to carry on in hard times. She was my Great Great Great Grandma and was born Oct 6, 1822 in Devon Scotland. Her life was one full of hard work, sorrow, and pain. Even with all the trials and challenges she experienced it was said she was cheerful and fun-loving. When Grandma was only 5 years old her father died leaving her mother and two siblings in a very difficult situation. Her mother, out of desperation, married a man who instantly decided Elizabeth was old enough to go work in the coal mines. She would spend all day working in the small, dark, dust filled tunnels pushing the loaded coal carts to the surface. The carts were heavy and strenuous to move; she found it easier to push them using her hands and the top of her head. A bump formed on that spot and it remained with her the rest of her life. Whenever children or grandchildren would groan about their work and duties at home she would call them over to feel the bump and remind them of why they should not complain. Whenever I am frustrated and tired of life, wanting to give up, I think about Grandma and how even her childhood was stolen. I at least got to enjoy the carefree days of youth, while she worked away beautiful days in dark cold mines. I imagine myself rubbing Grandmas head feeling the bump and hearing her say encouraging or chastising words like, “You can do hard things it’s in your blood keep going you got this,” or “Stop your belling aching, this is nothing compared to what I went through!”
By Viltinga Rasytoja5 years ago in Families
Nanay Disya
I was raised by my paternal grandparents in a little village called Ulingao in the Philippines. I called my grandma "Nanay" in the Tagalog language which corresponds to the English "Mother". Most people in Ulingao called her "Insong Disya" or “Nana Disya”.
By Oliver James Damian5 years ago in Families
Memory Farm Walking
Creating my happiness isn't all that hard but does take some hard work. I am a farmer at heart and always have been. This goes all the way back to when I was a child tending the gardens with my grandfather. We had some fun and some very rememberable moments as well. Some even still stick with me until this day, like when he told me that horseradish tasted just like an onion! Let me tell you, oh my goodness it does not taste like an onion. I remember Grandma yelling at him about it while I was drinking milk. With him just standing there laughing his butt off about it. From that day forth I never sat down and ate onions with Grandpa. Before that we would eat them like they were apples, peel them eat them. But it never stopped me from going over there and spending time with him out in his gardens or any other time.
By Danyel Fields5 years ago in Families
A Grand Mother
There is so much about her that I don't know... that I will probably never know. She grew up in a time so foreign to mine, when this culture of ours was still uniquely itself, before the march of the steel and glass towers now stood amongst the acacia trees and thorny scrub of the land, and before this air was filled with the squinting glare of incandescent lights and the buzzing sounds of great machines at work. In all the years I have known her she has never made mention of a father, and her mother passed long before I was born. She did have many siblings in her early childhood, this I know, though she never talks about the ones that passed. Families grew big in those days - it was expected of every woman to marry young and mother five? six? seven? or even eight children... it was a pattern that belonged to that old serpent called tradition, who sometimes is sage and at other times is a devil. But, it was uncommon to have all these children survive. Sickness and circumstance always swung around to claim their dues - so the toll for fertility was all the lives thus reclaimed. My grandmother was one of four siblings that found long life. For the other three siblings, she still carries the weight of their loss in silence and dignity - such is her manner and strength.
By Topo Mokokwane5 years ago in Families
A Powerful Woman
"Graw-Graw" is the name I called my grandmother. Clair as she was called by everyone else was the strongest woman I have ever met and the person that I have loved more than any other human on this planet. My grandmother was born in 1918 in Germany and never complained about anything. She arrived in the United States when she was just 4 years old through Ellis Island. My family did not speak any English as many did not when arriving to our country. They settled into New York City and my grandmother could tell stories about taking the subway seem like the train to Hogwart's. "Graw-Graw" always had a story to tell about her days in New York and her wild 20's with my grandfather which always made me smile. A psychiatrist once asked me to close my eyes and think of a person and place that I always felt safe. The only answer was my grandmother and my grandparents home. Have you ever had a place where as soon as you see it and smell the aroma when you enter it calms you? This was that place.
By shannon miles5 years ago in Families
