During my latest book signing, a grandmother with two young grandsons
purchased a book, and we talked about the importance of grandparents…in her case a grandmother.

I am not yet a grandmother, and I may never be. However, I can tell you about what I gained in having my maternal grandparents in my life until I was in my very early 40’s. They didn’t have much in the way of material or financial means, and they worked so hard, six days a week standing on their feet, yet they were always available. Spending time with them was filled with joy. I always knew, without question, that they loved me. Actually, I felt like they adored me! Their eyes would light up when they saw me, and their arms would open and close around me so tightly, that their hugs provided me with a feeling of being safe. My grandmother would pinch my fat cheeks with such love and delight. My grandfather would get the root beer floats ready, and we would sit at their small kitchen table in their tiny kitchen, and they would talk with me. I was always amazed at how everything had it’s place in their small living quarters, and I would stand on a chair in their kitchen and look through their cupboards at how everything was so neatly placed. Then there was the refrigerator with the tiny amounts of leftovers. Nothing went to waste, as they had lived through the Depression. I loved the way they would tuck me in at night, read a book to me, and then my grandmother would rub my back in a gentle, sweet way until I would fall asleep.

My grandfather would read me the Sunday comics from the newspaper, as my grandmother would look on from across their small living area, with a little smile and a well of tears in her eyes. Often I didn’t really understand the comics, but I loved being read to and looking at the pictures.

There was always a Sunday drive, where I would watch my grandmother nod off from the backseat. My grandfather would talk away about the things we would drive by. The inevitable stop at Dairy Queen for a Dilly bar or whatever I wanted, was something I looked forward to. Food was a big thing and especially something that my grandmother would make…like her fudge!

My grandparents provided me with constant comfort, unconditional love, and an appreciation for the little things. There were many times that my grandmother assumed the role of a real mother for me. As I got older, she became my confidante.

During a couple of my book signings, there were children too young to read, but they looked through my book and loved the illustrations. I am thinking of one sweet little boy in particular. His name is Carl.

Carl would find a page that caught his eye, and he would ask, “What is he doing?” This would stir up a conversation whereby he would listen intently. After he was satisfied by what he was being told, he would eagerly
move to another page of interest, and ask the same question. In each conversation that was initiated through the illustrations, Carl learned something, and so did I. I learned what was of interest to him, particularly if several questions where asked about one specific illustration. He interrogated me over many of the expressions on the children’s faces, and we talked about what those meant. His mother was a wonderful woman who patiently listened, as his older sister stood behind him, looking over his shoulder.

As Carl walked away with his family and his new book, he turned to me and waved with a big smile that showed off his deep cut dimples. Carl definitely left an impression!