Nanny
She called kisses 'sugar.' The first thing she'd say when we got out of the car was "Come here and give me some sugar." She was always waiting at the backdoor when we pulled in.
She always had individually wrapped cheese slices. This was a big deal to me since we never had them at home. She also always had popsicles.
She had a huge black trash bag full of toys that she kept in the closet. I always had to play a round of Trouble with her during our weekend visits.
We used to sit on the porch and watch the cars go by. We didn't even need to talk.
She loved to eat at Pizza Hut. Grandpa wouldn't let her eat there, so she always got my brother and I to ask for it. That way, he couldn't say no.
She made the best fried chicken and homemade french fries. Those fries were the skinniest things I've ever seen. They were so crunchy. I still don't like crunchy fries. I'd only ate hers. She still cooked with lard.
She would always take us to the mall and slip my brother and me a $20. She'd always whisper "Don't tell you father," though of course he always found out.
She had saltine crackers and napkins in her purse at all times. Every now and then, you could fine peanuts from a local restaurant in there, too.
Her living room was plastered in these hideous mirrors that had gold flecks in them. My brother and I always played the "sneak up on Grandma" game, and for years, we had no idea how she always knew when we were behind her.
I miss her. I miss Nanny. She's effectively been gone for 10 years. I've hardly given her thought over the past decade. I thought I had said goodbye 10 years ago when I went to visit her, and she didn't recognize me. Apparently, I never said goodbye. And now I ache because my little boy will never know my fun Nanny. She would have absolutely loved to chase him around the house. But that will never happen now. And that makes me cry.
It's nice to remember her, though. A friend recently asked me about her, asked me what she was like. I brushed off the question, but I guess it's good to remember. It means she's still here. She's not really gone. Thanks.
She always had individually wrapped cheese slices. This was a big deal to me since we never had them at home. She also always had popsicles.
She had a huge black trash bag full of toys that she kept in the closet. I always had to play a round of Trouble with her during our weekend visits.
We used to sit on the porch and watch the cars go by. We didn't even need to talk.
She loved to eat at Pizza Hut. Grandpa wouldn't let her eat there, so she always got my brother and I to ask for it. That way, he couldn't say no.
She made the best fried chicken and homemade french fries. Those fries were the skinniest things I've ever seen. They were so crunchy. I still don't like crunchy fries. I'd only ate hers. She still cooked with lard.
She would always take us to the mall and slip my brother and me a $20. She'd always whisper "Don't tell you father," though of course he always found out.
She had saltine crackers and napkins in her purse at all times. Every now and then, you could fine peanuts from a local restaurant in there, too.
Her living room was plastered in these hideous mirrors that had gold flecks in them. My brother and I always played the "sneak up on Grandma" game, and for years, we had no idea how she always knew when we were behind her.
I miss her. I miss Nanny. She's effectively been gone for 10 years. I've hardly given her thought over the past decade. I thought I had said goodbye 10 years ago when I went to visit her, and she didn't recognize me. Apparently, I never said goodbye. And now I ache because my little boy will never know my fun Nanny. She would have absolutely loved to chase him around the house. But that will never happen now. And that makes me cry.
It's nice to remember her, though. A friend recently asked me about her, asked me what she was like. I brushed off the question, but I guess it's good to remember. It means she's still here. She's not really gone. Thanks.
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