A Growing Boy

Rambling About My Granny

I can’t speak to how Grannies (That means “Grandmother” in case you’re from Michigan or some such) are in other parts of the world but in the American South, they are hell bent on making sure you get at least triple your daily recommend caloric intake anytime you are visiting with them. I tended to visit my Granny Bain quite a bit.

I have lots of regrets. Well, maybe I should phrase that different cause if its true that every decision has led me to where I am today then I can’t possibly have regrets can I? Oh wait I know… I am ashamed of a lot of shit that I did.. thats more like it! One thing I certainly don’t regret however is that I never once got over being a Granny’s boy. My Granny Bain used to always tell me “Now Corey you’re gonna get that drivers license and I’ll never hear tale of you again!”. I’m happy to report that I left the DMV and went straight to her house so we could go on one of our day-dates to get some Supreme Tacos at The Taco Bell which to Edna Arlene Bain, a woman who lived through the depression without 2 pennies to rub together and to hear her tell it, without “a pot to piss in” why that was the height of luxury!

I can’t remember exactly but If I had to guess, that isn’t the last thing we ate that day. I’d imagine we got home to an ice box full of Creamsicles, Banana popsicles, Toffee Bars, and Fruit Pops and had two or three while we were on the porch shucking beans and counting the cars as they went by. Then once the sun went down and her next door neighbor May had gone back inside after leaning over the fence and complaining about the Braves, Granny probably asked me if I wanted a Grilled Cheese sandwich and I replied the way Porter Wagoner would if someone asked him whether or not he loved shiny ass suits.

Granny didn’t stop her nurturing ways just because I became an adult. They never do it turns out. I remember being in my mid twenties with her insisting on making me biscuits and gravy after we’d done and got back from dinner at my Momma’s house. I’d tell her that I couldn’t because since my metabolism went the way of the Dodo everything goes straight to my hips now. And my ass. And my arms. And my stupid moon shaped face. Granny of course would shrug this off as non sense, “Oh come on now, you’re a growing boy!” she’d say. “Granny I am a 26 year old man. I’m grown! The only growing I’m gonna do is out!”

The fatter I got the more handsome Granny would find me. I used to think that she was just the sweetest woman God ever but on this earth and I mean, she is, but my theory now is that Grannies associate being fat with being wealthy because back during the depression the bigger your ass was, the bigger your paycheck was. Pretty wild how that dynamic has shifted if you think about it. Anyhow I of course could never turn down Granny’s food. Lets just pretend for a second it was for her benefit and not the fact that I have an ongoing toxic relationship with eating that I apparently now using writing to cope with.

Granny would have been 101 this year and I think about her every day. Every time I see a vine ripe tomato. Every time I see a Gospel Choir on the TV. Every time I hear mention of Chipper Jones or see a Grey haired Schnauzer… cause she had one named after him. I think of her every time I look at my niece and see the curly hair and sweet demeanor she clearly inherited from Edna and I think of her every time my belly rumbles. Every time I reach for the refrigerator door knowing full well that I’ve just ate supper and I ain’t hungry. Just as I give in to that temptation that gets me damn near every time I hear a voice in the back of my head say “Oh come on now, you’re a growing boy!” and I smile.

Thanks for listening to me ramble

Talk Later

‘Corey