I loved going to my grandma's house. Especially when I was sick. My grandma adored me. I always felt safe at her house. I loved that she would make Chef Boyardee ravioli anytime I wanted it, even for breakfast. If I was sick, she'd make a special pallet on the floor and make sure there were Kleenex and Sprite within reach. I always felt and knew her love. She never yelled. She never hit. My grandpa was also very doting. I loved to bang on the piano while he played his harmonica. I got off and on the school bus from their house for preschool. My mom would pick me up after school. Sometimes she'd find me rummaging through Grandma's old jewelry or playing in the flower garden in the back yard. I hated leaving their house, but every chance with my mom was a chance to get her to like me. I just needed to stay quiet when I was with her. When I was with my grandparents, I could be loud, run, laugh, and be myself.
This is my sister banging on the piano...
I would never bother my mom with growing pains because it was just an opportunity for her to tell me how I deserved it. I didn't define it that way then, I just knew I couldn't share things with my mom. I can remember getting off the bus one day when some neighborhood children started chanting "You drink pee! You eat poop!" at me. I was really devestated. I didn't understand why they were being mean, but I ran into grandma's house crying that day. I told her those kids were being mean to me. Grandma cuddled me and said, "Do you drink pee and eat poop"? "No", I blubbered. "Your family is all that matters. Don't ever forget that", she said. This would only be the beginning of me running to grandma crying and her giving me tidbits of advice. I just want to say that it only takes one person to love a child unconditionally in order for them to "make it" ... just one.
No comments:
Post a Comment