The holiday season is only a hair’s breath away. For many, this means visiting relatives. Mine
lived far away in a distant state when I was growing up. Unless you live in
Florida like me, summer is probably just a memory by now. Here, the temperatures
were still in the mid to high 80’s until recently.
I only stayed at my grandmother’s house once, and that was
enough! That June of 1958 school had ended just a week before. My mother &
I boarded a late night flight for Detroit, where I was born. The guys (Dad,
Grandpa, & my brother) remained in Hobe Sound in our rented cottage across from the mangroves.
Many of our Northern relatives & friends had not seen me
since I was a year old. Back in 1952 my family packed our 2 cars and set off
for a new life in the Sunshine State.
Now I had just completed my first year of
elementary school and I was a big Second Grader! At least that’s how I viewed myself.
After 5 days at Aunt Kiki’s house, Mom & I planned to spend
the remaining 5 at my grandmother’s place. This was the house where Mom and her
3 sisters had grown up. Grandma lived in a distant part of Detroit and it felt
like a long drive.
On the way over, a sense of gloom swept over me. Perhaps it
was all those stories about Grandma I’d heard from relatives. I always had the
feeling her daughters cared for her more out of duty, than love. This was the
only grandmother I had ever known. My paternal
grandmom died when my dad was 7 years old.
Grandma was a strict Pentecostal, (Holy Roller) she wouldn’t
even allow a Christmas tree in the home because she considered it pagan. My mother never had a meal inside a
restaurant until after she was married. Dad used to say she was afraid to go
inside one on dates!
My mother’s family was poor. They rented their upstairs and
basement to boarders. The family was confined to the small downstairs area. A
practice my Grandmother continued long after her husband died and her daughters
married and moved out.
Once we entered Grandma’s neighborhood I could feel it in
the air. All the houses were from another era. Had it not been for the traffic
on the street, I could swear I’d gone back in time.
The inside of her home smelled like a crypt. Everything
looked depressingly worn and outdated. It was a far cry from Aunt Kiki’s
elegant and spacious house.
My grandma appeared deceptively frail. She was actually
feisty and mean. I was her ONLY granddaughter, all the others were boys! Right
away she didn’t like my blonde hair. My mother pointed out that it was growing
in darker in the back and I probably wouldn’t stay blonde for long.
The only other natural blonde in our family was her daughter
Kiki (the family slut) who caused Granny grief. Kiki married well, but
later thought she could do better and lost everything. Kiki’s hair also
darkened, but she bleached it back in her late teens, as did I.
We were introduced to the upstairs tenants, an older
childless couple. Later, we met the renter in the basement, a Hispanic man in
his early 30’s.
Next door on the right was a family of foreigners, from an
Eastern European country. The daughter was a slim,
pretty girl about 11 or maybe 12. She had black curls all over her head. She seemed more of a young lady to me than a
child. I watched her and her girlfriends on their front step from my
Grandmother’s bay window. The other children in the house were younger boys.
Mom did all the grocery shopping during our visit. As I sat
snacking on crackers Grandma leaned over. “Soda crackers dry up your blood,”
she proclaimed. She swore a nurse told her this as fact!
I went outside to play. The back yard was tiny.
There was nothing to do except eat the peeling lead paint chips off the old
house.
I didn’t learn until a decade later this was injurious to my
health! -- If they don’t want children eating lead paint chips why did they
make them so damn tasty! Anyway, I hope they haven’t caused any long term
effects. – Hey, at least they didn’t dry up my blood!
Family friends were constantly dropping over to marvel at how
I had grown. Everyone vividly recalled the day I was born. I heard repeatedly
how Mom had been rushed from a Beauty Salon to the Hospital. I came into the
world in the early evening. I’ve since
heard this is the least likely time for a baby to be born.
After the last one left, I gave sigh of exhaustion and
declared I was going outside. “And stay out!” my grandmother snapped. I was
stunned, during this visit I had been on my best behavior.
Outside, I sat on the grass. I heard someone approaching
from behind. I turned and gazed up into the beautiful smiling visage of the
girl next door. She
introduced herself and was quite friendly and pleasant. She thought my mother
& I were new upstairs tenants. I explained that the old woman was my
grandmother and I would be leaving on a plane for Florida, soon. She left
shortly after I told her this.
Ironically, that evening, my mother reminded me how Grandma used
to cut a switch from the cherry tree and whip her and her sisters over every
minor infraction. She implied that I was actually seeing a mellower version of my
grandmother.
Late the following afternoon, I was in the back yard as my
mother packed to leave. I heard a loud scream and then another emanating from
the house next door. The screaming turned to piercing shrieks. Those horrid sounds
grew increasingly worse! It was THAT girl!!! I heard her cry out, “Stop!”
several times followed by long, shrill wails. What were they doing to her!?
What horrible act had she committed to deserve such a thing, or perhaps they
were just horrible parents.
I wanted those awful
sounds to stop!!! I wanted to help her, but I felt small and powerless. I
couldn’t stand to hear it any longer! I went indoors.
I never mentioned it to
either my mother or grandmother. I knew I would just be told, “It's not our
concern" and to forget it. This is how people thought back then. To put this in
modern terms, reacting negatively would have been considered judgmental.
Later, my uncle came and took us back to Kiki’s house. That night,
we would catch our flight home.
After returning, my older friend Sharla came down from
Stuart with her mom. I related this awful incident to her.
“Why didn’t you go over there and tell them to stop!” she
snapped. Sharla glowered accusingly at me.
“I was afraid!” I exclaimed. “They might do to me what they
were doing to her!” I thought Sharla was crazy for even asking me that!
“Aw they couldn’t do
anything to YOU!” she replied. “You weren’t their child! The worse they could
have done was tell you to leave.”
Well I wasn’t so sure, just months before, I watched my
otherwise kindly, old teacher paddle a boy until he cried before the entire
class. And he wasn’t HER child, either! Plus this was far from a rare
occurrence.
I was eager to see my other friend, Noreen. I thought she
would understand! Neither of us got along with our mothers, we used to
commiserate, this was our bond. But as soon as I confided that I didn’t like my
grandmother and never wanted to see her again, I was flabbergasted by Noreen’s
reaction.
“Shame on you!” she hollered. “Don’t you dare talk dirt
about your grandmother! Grandmothers are
nice!!!”
“Not all of them!” I shouted back. We argued back and forth.
She refused to listen. Finally, I just walked out. The incident was never
brought up.
While Mom & I were up North, my father landed a great
new job! In another week, we would be leaving Hobe Sound and moving back up the
coast to Stuart.
I never said good-bye to Noreen. She is mostly forgotten,
and so is Sharla, now. But after all these decades I remain saddened by the
memory of the pretty girl with the black curls.
