Remembering My Memaw

My mom’s adoptive mother was not a very likeable person.

She was bitter. She was judgmental. She was emotionally abusive to many.

She divorced her husband when my mom was a teenager and never remarried. For that matter, I don’t believe she even ever dated again.

She and my mom did not ever really come close to liking one another and they fought constantly.

She did not have a happy life.

But my memaw loved me.

I’m not sure why I seemed to be the only person she could accept, but she doted on me constantly, spoiled me, and let me get away with far too much.

I lived with her for two years, through 1st and 2nd grade, just her and me.

We’d watch Smokey and the Bandit and other similar comedies and cackle together.

I’d play outside while she tended to her immaculate gardens.

She’d sit in her chair and watch patiently, knitting, crocheting, or cross-stitching, while I played on my NES or watched cartoons or action movies.

She’d make me pecan pie tarts, peanut butter cookies, sliced apples with salt sprinkled on them, and my favorite Italian-style green beens.

She’d take me into town to Walmart (a 30 minute ride one-way) at least once a week to shop for groceries and pick out a toy.

And she accepted me like no other grown-up ever did. When I did my stimming as a child, what became known as my “jumping around”, she never mocked me or corrected me as my parents did. I was never comfortable enough again for someone else to see that.

She was not a very likeable person…but I liked her quite a bit.