A Rare Find: Part 3
You’d think with nearly 20 grandkids running rampant around their place that grandparents could get pretty grouchy, but I can’t remember either of them ever seeming tired of us. They both seem to love kids, and not just the ones they’re related to. My grandmother seems to have a magical touch with babies; when her children were young, my mother’s sister would run into my grandma at the Eagle’s club and grandma would easily quiet the crying babes which quickly feel asleep in her arms. Grandpa is more the jolly type, the kind that makes little kids laugh and smile. I remember as a little girl crawling into his lap and feeling his scratchy face on my cheek when he’d give me hugs (I know the man shaves, but he seems to have a perpetual five o’clock shadow). He smiled and joked with me, smelling like Dawn dish soap and engine grease.
There aren’t many kids running around the place these days. Even the youngest grandchildren are well past the little stage. Now you’ll occasionally find one of the few great-grandchildren getting spoiled by grandma and grandpa. At least one thing hasn’t changed there, and it’s the cards. There is always at least one deck of cards on top of the fridge, and usually another couple tucked away in the candy cabinet (they cabinet we grandkids used to scale chairs and each others shoulders to raid the sweets). When you go to visit my grandparents, most of the time is spent sitting around the kitchen table, yapping and playing cards. Sometimes there were multi-player games like cribbage, but mostly we play solitaire. Generally only one person would play cards, the others would chat away about this and that, but miss a move or make a mistake with the cards, and grandpa is all over it. “What are you doing?!? Put that five on that six. Good. Good. Now the three on the four. Spade on a spade” grandpa will say in a voice so gruff you’d think he was angry if you didn’t know better. But it’s always followed by a smile or a laugh, and back to the conversation at hand. When I was younger I used to find these interruptions irritating, but now I think it’s endearing, and I win a lot more with grandpa’s help (he’s a shark).
As I write about these facts and put down my memories, I realize there is so much I don’t know about my grandparents. How did they meet? Why did they move to town? I think that I’ve heard stories about these things, but I’ve either forgotten or wasn’t paying attention in the first place. My grandparents are great storytellers, especially grandpa. He calls all the women he’s related to “Sis.” Grandma is “Ma” or “Grandma” and occasionally “Dode” (short for grandma’s nickname, which is derived from Wynona). I know I don’t call my grandparents enough. My grandpa calls me occasionally, and I’m not keeping up my end of the deal. I have no good excuses. So this weekend I resolve to give them a call and ask them some questions, and really listen to their answers. Maybe next year, for their 60th anniversary, I’ll be able to write a better piece about them, but more importantly I’ll know them better.
Congrats Grandma and Grandpa. I love you guys tons!