How parents love us, part III

Ethel Simmerman (Gram)

My grandmother, Ethel Simmerman, came to live with us when I was eight, after my parents were divorced. She lived at our house for seven years, and moved to a new place a few years before my dad got remarried. At the time, I didn't realize what a sacrifice it must have been for her to be in charge of three little kids (and later, teenagers--shudder), when she should have been enjoying her retirement.

Gram was a fabulous cook, a trait that, sadly, was not passed on to me. Every night we had dinner at the dining room table--formal meals with meat, gravy, mashed potatoes, bread, dessert and vegetables. When we had lima beans, sometimes we (the children) tossed them surreptitiously into the opening in the back of the recliner that sat by the table--but I digress. The point is that we always had dinner together, the food was terrific, we took our time eating, and we talked about our days.

When I was in high school, Gram once complained about the way I was dressed when I came to the table for dinner. I, ever the smart alec, went to my room and put on my pink prom dress (with train) and returned to dinner. Did this make Gram angry? It did not. She thought it was funny! In addition to being a good cook, she was a good sport.

Gram was really good with dogs. She taught our dog Bingo to sit, speak, beg, and play dead ("Dead Dog!" she'd say authoritatively, and Bingo would collapse). She loved and cared for all of our animals, including Boo Boo, the cat who pounced on dogs and had a litter of kittens every year. Her love for animals, I'm happy to say, was passed on to me.

I can't think of too many better ways to show love for your son than to help him raise his kids. I never heard my grandmother complain about her life, even though no one would have blamed her if she did. I know I, personally, was a real pain sometimes.

I wish I'd thanked Gram more. I wish I'd been kinder to her. I sure wish I'd told her more often how much I appreciated all that she gave up so we could be happy.

Postscript from Scott:
A few of the things that stick with me are "oh for the love of Pete" and "oh for cryin' in a bucket" and "you dig your ditch and then you sit in it" and "a place for everything and everything in its place." The phrases always make me smile (the meaning of the "ditch" one I've gotten quite familiar with). I remember her helping me with my homework -- a lot, and the life talks she used to give me -- "you know Scott, one day you'll have kids of your own and...." I miss her.