While it is tempting to vent about my hate for the gray hairs that seem to be invading my hair, instead I’ll focus on another form.
Grandparents.
I was spoiled when I was little. I was the first grandchild on both sides (excluding my Pap’s kids from his first marriage). Those four people basically thought I hung the moon and did everything in their power to take care of and spoil me. Pictures from my first couple Christmases are simply ridiculous. With time, more grandkids were born and while I remain the favorite, their love did have to spread around. Somehow though, they’ve never lost their ability to make me feel loved.
My Pappy Kenneth is the only grandparent I have lost. I remember playing checkers with him, him taking me shopping and to Western Sizzlin, but mostly, I remember his health being pretty bad most of my life. Time in the mines and smoking had killed his lungs, but he still managed to play with me and make a lot of memories before he died while I was in 5th grade. My heart was broken when we lost my favorite overgrown child…he was so much fun to be around.
His wife, Grandma Mac, later dubbed Mackel, is one of the spunkiest ladies her age, who I know. I remember Mackel being stricter and crankier in my younger years, but she still spent a lot of time teaching me to cook and bake and we became really close when Pap was gone. I’m not sure if her personality changed or I changed, but either way, she doesn’t seem so scary anymore (unless she’s mad, then watch out!). Some of my favorite memories with her are Black Friday shopping, her cooking (yum) and her taking care of me after surgery. She’s a good nurturer.
My Pappy Fred is a piece of work. He’s a big burly man, whose body is worn out from years in the limestone mines. He looks like a tough guy, but he’s a big ole softy. He gets his biggest grins when tormenting other people, loves to snag “deals” at flea markets and yard sale and share them with others, and use to love to garden when his body would allow. His half compliment/half insult remarks never fail to bring on some giggles as well.
His wife, Grandma Flo, aka Lala, is the grandparent that I grew up the closest to. She babysat me for years while my parents worked and has spoiled me quite a bit. I spent many nights with her when I was little. She’d do anything for anyone, sometimes to a fault and of course I have to mention that she put my arms through a ringer washer once (well maybe I did, but we’ll blame her). My favorite memory with Lala is doing her hair and make-up when I was a kid. I would spend hours making her look like a clown/street walker.
The other day, I started to realize how frail my grandparents are looking. They are starting to show their age, slow down and just not be the invincible people I once thought they were. I can’t stand to even think about losing them; they’re a huge part of my world. I remember always feeling sorry for the kids who only had a few or no grandparents left. Always seemed like a sad sad world to me. I already feel a twinge of sadness for my unborn kids because they never get to meet, my Mom. She would have been the best grandmother, the world had ever seen.
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