My mother's mother was a tiny little woman who never broke five feet. However, with her thick, bright red hair, she was a hard person to ignore
and her personality made it even tougher. We all knew Grandma grew up in hard times, but she was stingy with the details. She didn't like to talk about it and Grandma never did anything she didn't want to do, but
deprivation never hindered her intelligence. She was about the smartest person I've ever met and could do anything she set her mind to do. She would simply look at something and then go do it. My mother can remember Grandma
rewiring their home in Memphis, lowering the high ceilings of that same house and reupholstering the furniture, all without formal training in any of those disciplines.
But that same brilliance and single-mindedness also
made her one of the toughest cookies with whom I've ever dealt. There was no sentiment in her at all. I can remember when my sister and I were small; we received two baby chicks apiece one year for Easter. They stayed at my
grandmother's home and, for a while after they were grown, I can remember the rotten luck we had with cats killing our pet chickens one by one, just in time for Sunday dinner. Grandma saw nothing wrong with serving one's pet. I
remember years later thinking how glad I was she never told us that a "cat killed the dog". That was one meal I wouldn't have touched.
But Grandma wasn't the only member of our family to have a less than cordial outlook on
life. She and her two sisters and one brother -- the only four children of many to live to adulthood -- had a terrible falling out at some point in their adult lives. For 30 years, long after the deaths of their parents, the
four Wilsons refused to speak or communicate with one another, even though the original argument had long been forgotten. Finally, the grown daughter of one managed to get them all to agree to meet in Missouri at a ranch owned by
one of the sisters. The fateful time came and the other three traveled from across the country and arrived at the ranch to see one another for the first time in three decades. The greetings were warm and wonderful and they spent
the first few hours catching up with one another.
But then evening arrived and, being Wilsons, they could not just go quietly into the night. They engaged in a knockdown, drag-out argument about who was going to sleep where
and got so mad the three visiting siblings packed up their stuff and went home. And they never again saw or spoke to one another. Nobody could hold a grudge like they could.
Yes, they were definitely single-minded and I was
reminded that my daughter and I were also descended from that same stubborn line on the occasion of her first recital, when she was just barely four years old. We'd had a tough enough time convincing her to put on the sparkly
costume and go out on that big stage in front of everyone. I, for one, wasn't entirely convinced she'd actually go through with it. When the time came, I held my breath and, sure enough, there she was, none too happy, but up there.
Then came the finale, where all the performers paraded on the catwalk and no Elizabeth. I shot backstage to find out where my child was and she was happily plopped down next to one of the chaperones. She had steadfastly refused to
go out for the curtain call. After all, she told me later, she'd only agreed to one appearance and she'd already made that one.
I think my grandmother would have been proud of her.
