I am in the process of remodeling my home office/den. In order to paint and apply new wall coverings,
I was forced to take down photographs of my maternal grandparents from one wall. Oddly enough, I now think of my grandparents
nearly every time I see the bare wall.
From my early teens on, I was raised by my grandparents. The years I spent with them were safe,
productive, and, for lack of a more substantial word, beautiful. My grandparents provided me with a firm foundation
that allowed me to be, well, me.
Consider, my grandparents were about my age in when they took me
in. I think about that a lot these days. How would that feel? How monumental the change of lifestyle? What sacrifices to be made? What rewards to come?
As I think back, I recall a few times—while I was still navigating
through the ugliest narrows of my early teens—when Grandmother drove me up into
Helena and I felt a little weird about that.
Honestly, I hoped I would not bump into any high school classmates while
she carted me from place to place.
I was too nervously cool to be with my grandmother.
Today, I would give most anything to spend any one of those uneasy
hours with her again.
—Mitchell Hegman
You were still blessed to have spent a great part of your youth with your loving grandparents. What do you think was their most significant influence on you?
ReplyDeleteMost significant? Good question. I think, more than anything, the simple fact they were always there for me--even after I moved out on my own--made all the diffidence.
ReplyDelete