My grandmother got married when she was 17.
That possibly says it all.
At 20, I don't even know who I am or what I want. I'm nowhere near the person I was at 17. I'm not even the same person I was a year ago.
The way we look at it now, there's a lot of changing to do during these formative years. I guess maybe people just had fewer foreign experiences and too little access to outside knowledge to change them back then.
My grandmother had a girl and three boys. Her husband died when my dad, the youngest, was 7. (Hence my referring to him as her husband instead of my grandfather.)
Gorgeous, grandma could've re-married and had someone to help support her and take care of the kids. I assume. But she did it on her own. She worked hard and parented harder.
The respect she commanded still shows through when I see my dad and uncle interact with her. A respect that I know is nowhere near that which I show my own mother.
The family jokes about an imaginary man named "Jose." We say she has a boyfriend at her senior center, where she goes almost every day. Usually she lets it pass or gets slightly annoyed. But one time, we were dropping her off and my dad started joking with her.
"There is no other man," she said, scowling. "Your father was the one for me and I never wanted anyone else."
No comments:
Post a Comment