Just some thoughts and ideas going around in my head while trying to figure out where I am and where everyone else is going.

Monday, February 11, 2008

A Tale of Grannies

I don’t know when Barak (Barry) Obama first met his grandmother. I don’t know how they have developed a relationship on two different continents separated by a vast ocean, but I am sure that she is proud of him. Any grandmother would be proud of any one of her grandchildren who were able to pursue their dreams. Whether that dream was to be the most powerful person in the free world or be the first one in the family to complete a high school education; pride is never very far from a grandmother’s heart.

I have always called my grandmothers granny and I have often wondered how they felt about me. Granny, my mother’s mother is proud of me just because I can walk straight. When I was younger I was bow legged and pigeon toed, a combination of deformities that she remembers fondly of helping me overcome. Although, I get the feeling that if my legs hadn’t of straightened out in time, she might have persuaded my mother leave me out back at night and let the elements have their way. Granny has lived with my family since I was two, but my earliest memories are of Granny Muriel, my father’s mother. I don’t know how I came to call her using her first name, I think I’m the only grandson who does that, but that’s how I refer to her, even thirty-one years after her death.

I remember when I was four, my sister had not been born yet so those were the happy days when I received all the attention, at least from my parents and I was out with Granny Muriel and at least one of my aunts somewhere. There was a cup in a store window that had a picture of a naked woman in relief on one side. Attached to the cup by a thin wire were boobs that swung separately and provocatively. They were large with nipples that were perky and pointed upwards like how you would see on a sixteen year girl or a woman who has had a successful relationship with her plastic surgeon. They made me laugh and this pleased Granny Muriel. She bought the cup for me.

Over the years, even through her illnesses, she would buy other things for me, usually clothes that I grew out of. However, after I while I became less sure that she knew my name. I was always Victor’s boy. But then I think I was somewhere around the tenth grandchild out of thirty-two or five at the time she passed on so it was really forgivable. So when she died, I stayed in my room for about two days and I said to myself that I would hold onto that cup, because it was the last thing that I had to remind me of her. But eventually, that too went.

I still remember the cup falling in slow motion, just like in the movies; it shattered into a hundred pieces. However, at that moment I realized I didn’t need cheap porcelain crap to remind me of her. I still had pictures that my father hoarded somewhere, one day I will have them transferred digitally somewhere, and I still had my memories of her that can be triggered just by a passing thought, a faint resemblance to someone or a sense familiarity that brings me back to her.

I say all of this because Torrance Stephens, the author of the blog Raw Dawg Buffalo has been one of the authors who has revealed to me what a blog can be capable of. By his own example he has shown me that writing can be an avenue for exploration and not just an excuse for personal diatribe or petty discourse. I read his blog whenever I can and I am never, not rewarded for doing so. He also calls his grandmother, granny which was a surprise to me, since I had never known anyone else to use that term. Unfortunately I learned it by finding out that his granny had passed away recently.

Now I am not a religious person, I’m C of E (Church of England) that should explain everything, but I wanted to let Torrance know that the hurt and the pain will go away eventually but the memories of her will last forever and maybe one day, not soon, the fact that you have those memories will be privilege enough.

As for you others, check out Torrance’s blog. Although, he has more than his fair share of readers and there maybe something that you wont agree with, there's lots there for you to think about, pro and or con. Stay awhile put your feet up, relax and enjoy the ride.


  1. hey man, thanks for the love, and its cool

  2. yea its cool, thanks for the love folk

  3. I absolutely love your commentary...


  4. At the age of 4, I went to live with my Grandma. I would call her mother Granny. My Grandma didn't like the word Granny, she said it sounded way too old... ;-)

    Lovely tribute to Grannies.. ;-)

    What an adorable child....

  5. Nancy,

    Now that's funny. Grandmothers with egos. And yes you'e right, the child is adorable even though she's not mine.

  6. I love that picture of Barack and his Grandmother. You can actually see the strong family ties in their faces. Well, in my Opinion you can, anyway.

  7. One Man,

    I don't know about the strong family ties, but there is definitely a similarity around their mouths and they both have that look of determination.


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