Sometimes, when spring and summer storms roll through my neck of the woods, a beam of light will shine through and onto me even though it’s still raining… when these momentary breaks in the storm occur I think of my grandmother, Agnes Born.
My grandmother, on my mama’s side of the family, was an exceptional woman. She was the person who would say, out loud, what everybody else was thinking… because of her joyous personality this outspokenness usually produced looks of shock and horror… and then laughter.
Born in the first decade of the 20th Century, she lived into the 21st. I often think of the things that in her youth would have seemed almost beyond imagination that came to be, and be seen, over the course of her lifetime. I suppose the same can be said for anyone who lives beyond 90 years.
I am a part of her story and she most certainly is a part of mine.
Granny was a tall woman with charmingly expressive blue eyes that always seemed to have a shimmer of delight in them when she told us stories of her youthful mischievousness. According to her at some point in her life she had a perm put in her hair that went awry and fried her hair and scalp in the process, so she always complained about her hair. Her hair always looked just fine to me.
If you watch movies that depict southern women with a heavy accent you can get an idea of what she sounded like. The truth is though, I’ve never seen an actress speak “southern woman” that quite captured all of the many nuances of my Granny’s spoken words.
She was always happy when she had occasion to get dressed up and leave the house. She called this “goin’ gallivanting”. She would put on a nice dress and fix her hair and the little make-up she wore just so. The earrings and rings she wore were always brilliant and big. She would top all of this off with a hat. Her appearance defined Southern Grace.
She would always ask if her jewelry was “too gaudy” and always got the same answer… “No”.
I’ll share a story to be filed away under the heading of “You can’t pick your family”.
In Georgia, there is an annual ritual that many families have… driving up into the north Georgia Mountains to see the leaves as they change colors in the autumn of the year. In the fall of my junior year of high school my parents took Granny to do this. Roundtrip, it was probably a 4-5 hour ride.
An important note about going anywhere with my father, when he said, “you better go to the bathroom before we leave because we aren’t stopping” … he meant it.
A few hours after they left I went and picked up my girlfriend and brought her back to our house so she could meet my parents and grandmother for the first time.
My girlfriend and I were sitting on the front porch swing as the car pulled into the driveway… in a hurry.
My dad came out of the car walking in a kinda funny way. I refer to this as the “I gotta go trot”. As he went past us I tried to introduce him, he said “not now son” and kept moving; his butt-cheeks clamped down tighter than Mr. Brown’s hat band.
My mother and Granny by this time were standing next to the car laughing their damn fool heads off at him.
Not to be outdone in the “embarrassing your son department” my mother laughed so hard that she peed on herself… Granny, always one to enjoy a good laugh really howled at this.
Not to be outdone in the “embarrassing your grandson department” Granny peed on herself also.
All my imagined hopes for the first meeting between my girlfriend and family now dashed, I stood… in agony… on the porch not knowing exactly what to do.
Granny saw me standing there with a look of shock on my face. She re-gained her composure… sort of, and gracefully walked over to the porch and up the stairs.
I introduced her and, in a way that only she could, smiled her mischievous smile and said “don’t pay no never mind to us dahlin’… we are all jus’ this side of idiots”.
With that Granny kissed her on the cheek and walked into the house.
A story teller of larger-than-life proportions, what I know of her young life came to me by way of these stories. When I started writing this I jotted down a few quick blurbs to remind myself of the many stories she told me. When I was done I’d filled six pages from top to bottom. Rather than share them all, I’ll share the one she seemed to take the most amusement in recounting.
Her daddy would always put out his clothes for the next day, hanging them from the footboard of the bed. This was so that he could get dressed in the darkness of the early morning hours without disturbing his wife’s sleep.
The young and rascally Agnes would crawl up to the bed in the middle of the night, retrieve her daddy’s pants, and then retreat back to her room. She then proceeded to sew closed the bottom of the pants legs, giggling all the while.
Once the seamstress was done, she would then sneak the pants back to their place on the footboard.
A few hours later her still half asleep father would get up in the dark, grab his pants and stick his leg into one of the pants legs expecting to put his foot back on the ground, he instead would lose his balance and fall to the floor.
She told us she could her him holler out “Mamie, Agnes has done it again”.
I imagine her father, with time to heal his bumps and bruises, probably got a kick out of his daughter’s foolishness. I know I would have.
Granny used to tell me that she wanted to be a nurse when she was a young girl, but her parents didn’t approve of the idea. Apparently the thought of their daughter seeing people in a state of nakedness affronted their senses. In those days when your parents said no to something you didn’t question it.
Life would, in its own way, give her an opportunity to take care of others in ways that even the most steadfast of nurses doesn’t get.
Agnes Jeanette Viola Harris married Claude Stinson Born in 1928, together they had five children; Marianne, Shirley, Claude Jr. (Bubba), Eleanor (my mother) and June.
My grandfather worked as a supervisor at the King Plow Company in Atlanta and was also a Minister… his nickname was “Buck”.
Granny was a stay at home mother and wife. I do not believe that at any point in her life she was ever wealthy, well-to-do or perhaps even comfortable. She was however almost always happy. No matter what trials life gave her she always seemed able to muster a mischievous smile.
I only have one very faint memory of my mama’s father; he died just before my third birthday.
After my grandfather passed away, my Granny moved into a house on Kelly Lake Road. She lived there with her son Claude Jr. for many years.
My Granny’s next store neighbor, and best friend, was my father’s Aunt Madeline. She lived there with her husband Jake. Jake was a large man who always seemed to be in a bad mood. I asked my father once why he was always so grumpy; my dad explained “it was the result of having half his stomach torn out by exploding shrapnel on December 7th, 1941”. I generally avoided Uncle Jake… in hind sight I wish I hadn’t.
During the day, while Uncle Jake was at work, Aunt Madeline would visit with Granny. The two of them took turns telling each other funny stories; they always seemed to be laughing.
Neither of them had been treated kindly by fate. Granny was a widow at an early age… Aunt Madeline loved a man who suffered terrible physical pain all the remaining days of his life… after surviving a day he never spoke of.
One thing is for certain, Granny loved people… especially family, to come over and visit. In the south this is known as “having company over”.
When you walked into her home there were certain things you could count on. Laughter would fill the place and the smell of wonderful food was always present.
On the wall, across from the settee (southern for couch), two pictures and two paintings would be present. I do not remember the exact order of them, but my grandfather’s picture was there, a picture of my Uncle Claude Jr., a painting of Jesus and last but certainly not least was a painting, on black velvet of course, of Elvis Pressley.
Down south we just say Elvis, there is no need to say the last name; everybody down here knows there is only one of him.
The radio was almost always on, tuned into some good ol’ timey Gospel… the T.V., competing with the radio, was almost always on too and tuned to some good ol’ timey preachin’. When mixed with the talking and laughter, you had to pay close attention to keep things straight.
My mama’s brother would be in his rocking chair, moving back and forth usually in rhythm with the music.
I imagine you all may be thinking it was chaotic, but trust me, it was a wonderful home.
My parents sold our house when I was in first grade, but hadn’t found a new one yet, so during my second grade year we all crammed into Granny’s house.
Each night when it was time for bed, she would go from the front of the house to the back and turn off lights, radios and the T.V.
Then you’d hear her tell my Uncle “10 o’clock, close eyes, shut mouth, go to sleep, Jesus loves you and so does your mama”… and with that the house grew quiet.
When I was young Granny used to ask me if I had any candy to give her… when I said no she would wrap my face up in her hands and say “I’ll get me somethin’ jus’ as sweet” and proceed to plant a big ol’ kiss right square on my lips.
As you might expect, as a little boy, I wasn’t too thrilled by all of that and would wipe away her kisses from my mouth using the next best thing to a napkin, my forearm.
Granny got a kick outta that and would let out a big and loud laugh. She never seemed to tire of the ritual.
When we were little she called ALL of her grandkids “Bunny Squirrel”.
I have met very few people in my life who have been as stubborn as me. I may have inherited this quality from my mama’s brother. If they gave awards for such things I am pretty sure he would have been crowned the Champion of Stubborn for Georgia and at least three other southern states. I would have been a distant second, at best.
My Uncle Claude Jr. was called by three names, Bubba Born, Bubba, or Bub. I am guessing he stood about 6’3” and weighed in at about 250 pounds or so.
I mentioned earlier that my Granny wanted to be a nurse, but her parents wouldn’t let her. Life gave Granny a son who would depend on her for everything, all day and every day for his entire life.
Bubba had the mental capacity of perhaps a two or three year old child.
She constantly fawned over him, making sure first and foremost that he was taken care of; everything else came second to that one thing. When she was away from him she always seemed uncomfortable until she got back home to him.
She talked and sang to Bubba all the time. I have always thought that she was trying to find the right words to release the chains that bound his mind. Bubba only spoke a few words, so the conversations they had were one-sided.
The words I remember Bubba saying were: Mama, Home, Ice cream, Pookie (a little girl who gave him a Valentine’s Day Card when he was young) Power, Blood (from the gospel song Power in the Blood) and “Chicken Butt”.
My Uncle Bubba always has his eyes on his mama, when she would tell one of her stories and laugh, he would laugh too. His smile encompassed his whole face; his eyes would get the same glint that his mama’s had.
In those few brief moments when Bubba laughed I think my Granny got the same feeling I do when the sun breaks through the clouds of a storm. For her, those few seconds of connection must have made all of the sacrifice worth it.
Once, I got a frantic call from my mother… it seems that she had driven to pick up Granny and Bubba to take them to my oldest brothers house.
All was well until they got to Randall’s house where everybody tried for 20 minutes to get Bubba out of the car. He had planted himself in the middle of the backseat and wouldn’t budge. All of their pleas were met with a single word… “Home”.
I told my mom to just leave him alone and I would be on my way in a few minutes. When I got there, they were all still standing around the car, heads stuck into the doors, pleading with Bubba to come inside.
I walked up and could see the frustration on everybody’s face. I asked them to all go inside and leave me and Bubba alone.
I climbed into the back seat with Bubba and sat there. I didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Then I started to get out of the car and said “Bubba, you wanna go in the house and get some ice cream?” … he nearly knocked me over getting through the door into my brother’s house.
When Bubba was around you had to guard your tea glass (sweet tea of course). If he caught you unaware he would walk over and grab it … once the drink reached his lips, three grown men couldn’t have gotten it away from him with a pry bar; when I tell you he drank every last drop without stopping, I mean every last drop.
He once got a hold of a two liter bottle of Sprite. Now, I don’t know if you have ever tried to drink a 12 ounce can of cold Sprite all at once… I have and couldn’t do it. Bubba drank two liters of the stuff without stopping to breathe.
Bubba died of a massive brain stem stroke in 1997; He was 63 years old, Granny was 88.
I had always thought that she lived… and derived her strength to live on… because he did and that when Bubba died she would soon follow him. I was wrong.
All of my life I’d never heard her lament about anything but, after Bubba died, when she thought of him she would say “Poor ol’ Bubba Born”.
The once bright light that emanated from her eyes was forever diminished, but, for the rest of her life she still mustered those mischievous smiles when she heard something funny.
Just imagine what it must have been like on that November day in 2001 when Granny and Bubba met again, both freed of their earthly bonds, sound of both body and mind.
I wonder what they must talk about… My guess is they laugh a lot.
I miss her candy kisses. If she were still here I wouldn’t wipe away her “sugga”.
Granny’s example of finding those moments of sunshine, even when the clouds of life are heaviest with rain, have often acted as a compass that guided me when storms gathered.
The next time a rain storm gives way to the sunshine I hope you’ll think of her… or someone in your life… and smile a mischievous smile… and then… get on with it.
Until next time then,
“Bunny Squirrel”
Please, if you haven’t already, look at the bottom right of the page and hit the “follow” button. Once you do, you’ll receive an email anytime something is posted to the blog.
Life Makes Leadership 