Grandma

Grandma in the 1930s.

Today would have been my paternal grandmother's 96th birthday. It's hard to imagine Grandma at 96. Even though she lived to be 91, she never seemed that old; at least not to me.

Almost every year that I can remember as a kid my whole family would go to her apartment on her birthday. It's proximity to New Year's Day often meant school hadn't resumed yet after the holiday break, so we could all go during the day. Sometimes my aunt, Debbie, would be there. Sometimes other family members would pop in. Sometimes we'd order pizza from Casey's General Store down the block. Sometimes it was broasted chicken from Trunck's Country Foods. There really wasn't a tradition tied to her birthday, only making sure to be there to mark it.

In later years, as she approached and surpassed the 90 mark, I sent her flowers on the day. At the time of her 90th birthday I was working for the newspaper in Traer, Iowa, the same company that owned the Reinbeck paper. Taking advantage of this, I placed an ad in the local papers wishing her a happy birthday and including a photo of Grandma as a young lady.

She acted angry about seeing her face in the paper, but the kind of angry that isn't sincere. Later that year when the ad I designed won a top prize from the Iowa Newspaper Association she was eager to see the plaque announcing it. Recently while going through a box of photos that belonged to her I found a pile of cards from her 90th birthday, the result in from the ad announcing her birthday card shower.

(Side note: When I put a similar ad in the paper for her 91st birthday she threatened me with her cane, but never followed through.)

Grandma never showed a strong interest in family history. I first became interested I was probably 14 or 15 and started asking questions of Grandma (among others). Most often the answers were quick, brief, and consistent: "I don't know."

As my interest grew so did my kill at interviewing people. I learned that I couldn't just outright ask Grandma a question about family. She didn't respond to interrogation. She responded to was conversation. The most valuable stories came when we were just talking. Sometimes something would spark a memory, or the mood would feel right to pose a simple question. Say, for example, we were talking about someone we knew who was getting married or became engaged. I could casually add "When did you get engaged?" into the mix and she would casually mention something about her past with my grandfather, a man who died before I was born and who lived in my memory solely through photos and narrative.

It is through these conversations I learned how my grandparents met. It was the mid-1930s and my grandmother, then a teenager, went to a house party in rural Tama County, Iowa, at a farm that would later be owned by my grandfather's brother, Roy. It was almost across the road from where my grandfather and his parents lived, so naturally he was at the party. The rest, as they say, is history.

There are many more stories like this that Grandma shared with me over the years. As I entered college and eventually graduate school I found her more receptive to sharing. Perhaps after years of prodding I'd finally worn her down, but I doubt it. No one who knew my grandmother could call her weak willed. I think instead maybe she was appreciative of someone taking an interest - not in her specifically, but in the family as a whole. Eventually she even asked me to bring my binder of research to her apartment and leave it, so she could read through everything. I was more than happy to oblige.

I am happy I was able to know my grandmother as an adult. It's a different relationship than when you're a kid. You really get to know the other person I think. I spent a lot of time with her in the last few years of her life: dinners on Sunday with my aunt, weeknight visits for dinner, running errands now and then on a weekend. Most visits we didn't even talk about family history. Sometimes we didn't talk. We'd just sit on the bench outside her apartment, watching the birds and the breeze and just being there.

My grandmother passed away April 21, 2008, at the age of 91. This is the fifth birthday we've marked without her, yet Jan. 2 never passes without me thinking about her. She was a true matriarch, a phenomenal grandmother, and is now and always will be missed.

Happy Birthday, Grandma.