In 1982, HBO released The Electronic Grandmother, Ray Bradbury's story of a family and an adroit known as their 'electronic grandmother'. Grandma was played by Maureen Stapleton and is one our favorite films. My Grandma S could have easily been the role model for Miss Stapleton.
Let me explain, I never had a 'grandma' as a child growing up. Dad's mom died when he was twelve years old and my Mom; well she had eight mothers. YES...eight of them. Her dad married eight different times, twice to the same woman with a couple of wives in-between. I did have a great grandmother on her side of the family. A sweet woman but not whom I recall as my 'grandma'.
Grandma S was everybody's grandma. The woman took in every stray man, woman and child that walked the streets and into her door. Likewise, the house was full of animals galore...dogs, cats, fish...you name it, Grandma's house had it. To say her home was never boring is definitely an understatement.
The saint became my Grandma when we moved out to Claycomo, a small little village on the then outskirts of Kansas City. Dad moved us from the city's northeast side because he feared trouble was moving into our neighborhood. He wanted no part of that and thought this new place might be a better home for all of us 'heathens'. (More on the 'heathens' another time)
Anyway, school was starting and I walked to grade school. It was just a few blocks from the house. The first day of school came and I was in the fifth grade. A really tall girl was in my class and her name was P. P for pretty because she was as tall as she was pretty...long brown hair, gorgeous eyes and a pretty, yet restrained smile. She was taller than anybody in class. She offered to walk part of the way home with me that day. Come to find out, I passed her house along the way to mine.
She invited me in saying that Grandma would have cookies for us. She explained simply that she lived with her Grandma. Not wanting to pass up cookies, I eagerly went in. There she was, my vision of a Grandma. Kind of frumpy with a mid-section that was slightly bulging over her belted housedress. Had 'grannie' glasses worn hanging down her nose. She looked up, smiled and asked who I might be. I said my name was Kenny and lived further down the street and was new this year.
"Nice to meet you Kenneth. Help yourself to some cookies," she beamed as the woman brought a big old Tupperware © salad bowl full of all kinds of store-bought cookies. She had Kool-Aid © already on ice to wash them down. This was her 'cookie jar'. Realizing I was late getting home, I excused myself and rushed out the door.
Over the weeks ahead, this would become a ritual. I'd stop at Grandma's to say 'hi' and have some cookies. She taught me that I didn't have to ask for any and showed me where the cookie jar was kept. The only rule she had was that when you got into the jar and the cookies were running low, you needed to let her know. Then, she'd crawl under the house and pull out a bag full of more unopened cookie packages. I could only dream of such delight. Not only had I found a passion for cookies, but I also got a Grandma in the deal.
I've shared that story for most of my fifty-plus years with anybody that would listen. She passed a few ago at the age of ninety-eight. She was and is still my Grandma and she always had cookies for me whenever I visited…which was often. Funny thing, she always told people she was my ‘reasonable facsimile’ of a Grandma. Pretty fancy description for a woman who didn’t even know what a fax machine was.
And she kept calling me 'Kenneth'. In fact, her entire family did and does. They were the only people that I ever allowed to call me by that name. To this day, they all still call me that...not Kenny, not Kenn but Kenneth. Go figure. kG
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