Grandmas

I like being a Grandma and I think I am a better Grandma than I was a Mother.  That hurts even as I write it, but I have made my peace with that part of my life.  I had my first child right after my 16th birthday and my 4th and last child 2 months before my 23 birthday.  At that time I also had 3 stepchildren.  Seven children at 23 is a lot.  One of the good things is that at 23 you are, or at least I was, full of energy and I could keep up with the physical demands of 7 children.

At 23 I was also wrapped up in myself.  I had not had the teen years that most of us get to work through a lot of the things.  I now realize that this is true in a large percentage of people. Until approximately age 40 we are not grown up enough to truly put another human being before ourselves, at least not on a full time basis.  We have our own relationships, careers and lives to live.  Many of us try very hard to parent and every child has their own set of needs and personality quirks, making it a brand new experience with each child.

My first memory of a grandparent is strange and vague.  When I was 3 apparently we lived with my Aunt Emily.  My Mother and Father had seperated, my baby sister was still very much a baby and for whatever reason we ended up living with Aunt Emily and Uncle Gord and their 5 children.  I don't actually remember many events but I do remember feelings and I know I felt unsafe there.  Perhaps I was born feeling unsafe, it seems to something I carry around with me from place to place. At Aunt Emily's I remember my first interaction with a Grandma figure  She wasn't even a biological grandma.  Apparently she rented a room from my Aunt and uncle.  I had to be about 3 years old.  My cousins were noisy and rough, all male except one.  When I was scared or being hurt by them, I remember this old (she had to be younger than I am now) woman.  She would take me into her room and hold me on her lap.  This is about 74 years ago.  i called her grandma Hair.  I believe that is what everyone called her.

Grandma Hair's room had a round black stove in it.  She used to take something that lifted the lid off part of the stove and she would put bread over the heat and toast it and feed me.  I remember this woman, yet I forget the house and everything else about this time of my life.  I remember thinking, even at 3 or 4 years old that it was strange her name was Hair.  I am not even sure now if the spelling is correct.  I remember her and the warmth and attention she paid me.  It felt like she took me out of a herd of dangerous animals and rescued me for at a short time.  Once we moved away I never seen again and I never  forgot her either.

Monday June 1st, 2015.........2:00p.m.