Grandma Blazes a Trail
By Lindsay Madison
ome grandmas
are the sorts
who knit
sweaters, some pinch your cheek while grandpa palms you a couple dollars. I was lucky to have a grandma who used the pain of her past to create a brighter future for the generation that would follow.
My parents divorced when I was young and my dad was a bit of a Casanova (to put it kindly). On the weekends I stayed with him, while he was in between girlfriends, we’d live at his mom/my Grandma Gerry’s house. That was my favorite. Her home was a safe haven for me. It protected me from having to make uncomfortable conversation with whatever woman my dad was currently trying to marry and was a respite from the cacophony over at my mom and stepdad’s place where two new sisters were making their presence VERY known. In contrast to those chaotic environments, when I was at Grandma’s I felt safe and maybe even a little spoiled. We’d have our Saturday morning adventure at the public pool, followed up with a stop at the library and finally home for lunch. I’d spend the rest of the weekend engrossed in the books I’d picked up while Grandma read her mystery novel and when she tucked me in at night, she’d whisper that my life would be as magical as I could imagine it to be.
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