She Was So Proud

An Essay About My Granny

My Granny Bain was my best friend. She was 68 years old when I was born, so there was never a time where I knew her as anything other than an elderly lady. In spite of all that, she’s who I chose to spend the majority of my time with. She always told me when I was young that the second I got older, got a car, and got girlfriends, I’d forget all about her. She told me that was fine, but in that coded way that Grannies talk where you know they are trying to guilt you a little bit. The very first thing I did when I got my drivers license was head over the River and through the woods, so to speak. I remember her crying happy tears as she hopped in my truck and we cruised down the road to our “date spot” My Place and shared a Vanilla Malt. My Place has long since been boarded up, but every time I pass where it used to be, I can almost taste them. I can almost hear her sayin “no sense in gettin two when I just want a little sip!”

I knew that wasn’t true. My Granny never spent a dime more than she had to. Not because she was a “cheap” woman, as so many are just to be buttheads, but because she had grown up in the depression and it had forged her personality. Once I got a job, I would always pick up the check. Not just to repay the woman who had always spent what little social security she drew on me as a kid, but because I wanted my own damn vanilla malt!

I wish you could see how proud she was in these moments. I hope for all reading this that someone is as proud of you. No matter where we were, and no matter if we knew anyone there or not, she’d stop people as they walked by, point at me and say “that’s my grandson!” while I was on my tip toes getting a jar of jelly she couldn’t reach. She made her own jelly of course, but what she couldn’t make was the Richard Petty glasses the jelly came in. Them jelly jars would be my milk glasses for the rest of my life, because granny knew a deal when she saw one!

My Granny has been gone for 6 years now and there isn’t a day goes by where I don’t think about her. I don’t cry as much anymore, but I still cry. Matter of fact, I wrote this here essay in two sittings because I got too worked up after the first paragraph. I’ll be the first to tell you that I’m an overly emotional person, but I don’t think it’s unusual in this instance. Granny wasn’t just my Granny. She was my best friend, biggest fan, and most loyal defender.

When Granny died I think I had about 20 dollars on me, and I no doubt owed it to someone else. People often say to me “if she could only see you now!” And I’m here to tell you how Granny would feel about my success if she could see me now: she wouldn’t think a damn thing of it. Am I saying she wouldn’t be proud of my success? No I’m not, my friend. What I’m saying is that she was already as proud of me as she could possibly be. There was no room left to grow. My Granny didn’t need me to write a couple books or be in a TV show or make a little money. All she needed me to do is change the batteries in her “clicker” so she wouldn’t miss the Grand Ole Opry, and brother, I did that better than any of em!

Yep, she’s been gone 6 years, yet yesterday I found myself picking up my phone and dialing her number. I don’t know what I wanted to tell her, but I know that I’d give up everything if she coulda heard me tell it.

Don’t ever judge someone for how long it takes them to get over something, and always treat people kind, because you don’t know what they’ve just been crying about.

I love you Granny:)