As both my parents worked, I spent quite a lot of my summer holidays with Nana Win and Yaya Bob (I never found out exactly why he was "Yaya" instead of "Grandpa"). She taught me how to play Scrabble, although it wasn't until many years later that I found she didn't actually use the correct rules, but it was fun to play none the less.
I also spent time with Nana Dorrie and Grandpa Bill, he taught me to play chess, although I never beat him (came close once) and then when my mother took up Bridge, I learned to play that from them too.
Nana Dorrie (Doris) was the last one to survive, she made it to 96 and was still playing a mean game of Duplicate Bridge, then contracted pneumonia and a week later she was gone :-(
Maternal grandmother, aka Me-me: She had to have been bipolar. Kinda and sweet to those she considered family, outright hostile to those she didn't consider family (in laws & step family, and adopted family). She had a history of manufacturing conflict between people for reasons unknown. I broke off contact with her when she tried pulling that between my mother and myself.
Paternal Grandfather, aka Grampie: Man-whore until the end. Married to my grandmother for over 45 years before the divorce. Moved in with his girlfriend of over 30 years when he got kicked out. Not much of a family man. Navy vet and life long truck driver. Spent more time with the American Legion than with his family. Good provider and there when needed, but, not much of a grandfather.
Paternal Grandfather, aka Papa: first generation American to Irish parents. Married for over 50 years. Died of cancer when I was 6. I don't remember him very well.
Paternal Grandmother, aka Mom: Lived to be 98 years old. Born in Quebec, moved to the states in the 20's. Had 5 kids spread out over 17 years. Basically the complete opposite of my other grandmother. Never heard her say a bad word about anyone until her mind started slipping towards the end. Even then, it wasn't that bad, just out of character for her.Deserves much credit in raising me. My dad worked nights so I usually stayed with her when I would visit as a kid.
Post by martycanuck on Sept 10, 2018 8:00:51 GMT -5
I knew all my grandparents. Loved them all dearly. My mums parents I called “Craker Jack Grandpa and Grandma” when I was very young because they always brought us Cracker Jack (carmel corn with peanuts plus a surprise toy in the box if this is a local thing). It was how a very young cild sorted out which Grandpa and Grandma were which!
My Dad’s parnts didn’t have a nickname but Grandpa Joe always had a coin wallet and would stuff our piggy banks with coppers (pennies) when he visited.
They both lived locally and we saw them frequently.
My Mum’s Dad lived longest and met all 4 of our children though Deanna was newborn and he was dying of lung and brain cancer at the time so he was not really aware and she can’tremember it.
My 4 children still have all 4 Grandparents. Our youngest is nearly 20 now. Pretty amazing.
I knew all four of my grandparents. All of them came from Ireland. Maternal gp's immigrated around 1900 and Paternal gp's came in 1912 (they missed the Titanic, changed their tickets to the next ship - 'Oceanic' I think and arrived New York's Ellis Island April, 1912. Then they found out about the ship they missed!
Both sets were share-croppers on the (Chesapeake Bay's) eastern shore of MD and lived within 15 miles of each other. 7 kids in one family and 6 in the other.
Twelve of the thirteen children stayed in the same area except my dad who joined the Navy for a career. Needless to say, he and mom traveled a bit - my older brother went to 6 schools before finishing the 8th grade.
My parents are first generation American, and me and my brother are second gen. We both applied for and obtained Irish citizenship and got Irish passports. That deal does not extend past second generation of gp's from the Allied countries (all you need is ONE gp born in any of those countries).
By the time I was 12 they were all gone.
- L -
Last Edit: Sept 10, 2018 8:47:03 GMT -5 by mollypop
I lost my paternal grandfather when I was 4. I faintly recall sitting on his lap. He was bald and had big ears.
The rest of my grandparents attended my wedding when I was 22. Maternal grandfather was a great handy man and even added a second story to their house for an apartment. Maternal grandmother as a real sweetie and a wonderful baker! Paternal grandmother was the absolute opposite and had a sour disposition until she died at 90.
Inside every old person is a young one wondering, What the Hell Happened!
Paternal grandmother died when my dad was 9. I remember seeing paternal grandfather a couple of times. He never spoke a word to me, just stared.
I got a chance to chat with my maternal grandfather one time for a few minutes at his 90th birthday party. Maternal grandmother spoke to me only once when I was 15 and the family was visiting at her house. She and grampa were divorced.
My parents got married and moved from Oklahoma to California in the late 1930's so chances to visit any family were few and far between.
I knew 3 of my grandparents. My maternal grandfather died when my mom was 16. I did have a step grandfather (that was very nice). My paternal grandparents spoke very poor English, I saw them once or twice a year growing up, but we never had much of a conversation. My maternal grandmother used to take me exploring Chicago. I'd hop a train by my parents house and my grandma would be waiting at the specific train station. I must have been 10 or so (probably get you arrested, now).
Mom's parents were from western NY, Salamanca/Great Valley area. He had worked on the railroad, she had been a teacher. The summer after we moved to NJ they moved to CA, my mom, brother and I went with them. They had a camper trailer and we hit all the sights from coast to coast. In '85 they moved to our town to be closer to us (mom is their only child). Grandma died in '89, 5 days after my niece was born. My brother and SIL took Em to the hospital to visit Grandma, but they weren't allowed to go into the room, so Jon took Em to the window and they got Grandma positioned so she could see her. She said, "Good for Jon!" and died the next day. Grandpa died in 2003, at 98.5.
Dad's parents met at the boarding school here. Grandma's parents had a fruit farm here. Grandpa's grandparents had lived in this area, but moved to Alabama, where he was born. When they married, Grandpa and Grandma took over the farm. Grandpa died in June of '85, Grandma in '96.
Post by Jeannette on Sept 10, 2018 14:16:44 GMT -5
Paternal grandparents were both from Scotland, come over here separately in the early 1900's. Not sure if they met in New York or Canada, I've heard both. Grandma died in 1942 when my dad was 3. Grandpa died in 1978 when I was 7. I remember a fairly nice but codgy old man. In listening to stories from Dad about growing up, he was a mean SOB.
Maternal grandparents met at the local 'beer garden' (bar) back in the 1930's. Grandpa (Pa) was the oldest of 9, lived/worked on the dairy farm. Grandma (Mum) moved from Illinois, friends set them up. In the 1940's the local hotel caught fire and burned down, no fire dept around. My grandpa, his brothers, some friends created the local fire dept. He was chief until he died in 1985, I was 15. What I remember most is that he always had a smile and I don't think I ever heard a bad thing come out of this mouth.
Mum lived another almost 30 years without him, passed away in 2014, at 97. After she passed we found some journals she had along w/ some recipe books. Turns out she had a wicked sense of humor and not at all politically correct. And she loved the TV show the Price is Right. Don't you dare disturb her when it was on.
I was lucky enough to also know my great-grandma (Pa's mom). She was a grand old lady and for many years in my teens I would have lunch with her every Sat. Some of the best times and the best food. She passed away in '93 at about 96 or 97 years old.
Be true to who to are, you only have one life to live.
Grandad & Grandma Jordan died within a year of each other when I was 6 or 7. Don't remember much of them except he used to call every weekend with a bag of sweets until my mother put a stop to that as they were bad for our teeth. He then switched to bringing a bag of fruit, the kinds you would seldom see in Dublin in the 60's. Grandma Fay died during my teens. I don't remember much of her but I know that she was a strong character. One story. They used to go on holiday to Spain in the early 70's when very few Irish did so. On their last holiday there my Grandfather collapsed and was being treated for heat stroke in hospital there for 3 weeks. He was not even recovering consciousness so she got so feed up That she packed their bags, took a taxi to the hospital. Dressed my semi-conscious Grandfather, put him in the taxi and to the airport. She managed to get the airline to accept the out of date tickets and pass my Grandfather off as a bit drunk. The flight crew realised that there was something wrong and arranged for an ambulance to meet them in Dublin. He was taken to the nearest hospital to Dublin Airport which happened to be the Neurological Tertiary Referral hospital for Ireland. A few days later he had a brain tumour removed. In the 1970s brain surgery was brutal to say the best. This was September. He wasn't expected to live past christmas. My Grandmother was dead within 6 months and he lived for about another 6 years. Apart from Grandad Fay all were dead before they were 70. As was my father and B's mother. My mother died at 82 and B's father is currently walking in the Dolomites in Italy at 82. As for my kids. They barely knew my father who died in 2002 and B's mother who died in 2008. Cormac and Gráinne could not stand my mother, it's nice to know that they have taste and they get on well with B's father. It's hard to know how Fionn feels but at least he is friendly with B's dad but he was never opening friendly or involved with my mother. From conversations that we've had with Cormac & Gráinne B and myself doubt if we will ever become grandparents ourselves. Who knows?
Paternal Grandmother aka Grand Maman, was a short, smiling woman who was always in a great mood, always doing whatever she could so people around her were even happier than she was. She was a little bit of a clown and she had a wicked sense of humour. She found positive in 'everything' and she passed that on to her children. She peacefully passed away 2 days after her husband of over 50 years died of cancer. She called up to my grandpa to come and get her and he did. Rupture aneurysm of the aorta.
Paternal Grandfather aka Grand Papa, was a man of few words. I don't remember him smiling much either, but my father says it's because I was young when he passed and his last few years, he was battling cancer and really suffering. If you gave a piece of paper and a pair of scissors to Grand Papa, he'd cut you a perfectly formed horse. No drawing, straight cutting. He was very talented with his hands. One of my most vivid memory of him is me as a 5 or 6 year-old, saying hello to him after not seeing him for a few months and him telling me, teary eyed, that I'd forgotten to kiss him goodbye the last time we'd seen each other and it had hurt him. He could have told my father over the phone but instead waited months to tell me face to face because he never wanted me to do this to any loved one again. I still stings when I think of it. As I said, he didn't say much, but when he did, it was to be remembered.
Maternal Grandmother aka Grand Mère. I was afraid of her because she was speaking so loudly, I always thought she was angry with me and was going to punish me. She would babysit me when my parents where on vacation and she would always punish me and put me in a tiny room with only hot wheels to play with. He dogs were her everything but they were mean dogs that bit. My mother had a fight with her mom when I was young so I didn't get to know her much. I tried to keep in contact in writing as an adult but she was a very negative person and kept saying stuff like 'I don't have any children' or 'none of my children love me' and when I told her that maybe she was as responsible for that as they were, she never responded to further correspondence I sent. She passed away alone, was cremated and buried in a common plot by the government as having no family. My mother had a plaque put on the spot we think she's buried. Very sad.
Maternal Grandfather. Although he was alive until I was 24, I never knew him. He divorced my Grand Mère after he came back from WWII and never kept in contact with his children or ex-wife after he left. Divorce was a shame back then, so he disappeared as if he never came back from the war. I know he was 100% native indian, of Ojibway descent. I would have loved to know him. I had so many questions to ask him about my heritage! All of his descendants of my generation are really curious about him and his life. We also wanted our Indian Status recognized by the Government but grand mère refused to talk about him, his tribe (she was kicked off the reservation when they divorced) and his family refused to talk to us, outsiders. We had no way of finding the chief of the tribe to acknowledge our existence as my grandfather denied our very existence... but left a few thousand dollars to each of his children in his will. Go figure.
I would have loved to have a grand parent I could have seen every day, as mine lived a least 5 hours away, I had and still have a tendency to make friends with the elders around me. They have so much to teach us.
Post by glennfrommars on Sept 14, 2018 13:44:10 GMT -5
Grandaddy Scott was born in 1876, he died just before I turned 2 in 1958. From what I have heard, he was a quiet, but jovial fellow. Having been told the story of how as a toddler, I'd roll a ball down him as he tried to nap on Sunday afternoon, I dont know if I actually remember that or just conjured up a memory from being told about it. He would lie down on the sofa after Sunday lunch, put the newspaper over his face and nap. Mom said she would start to keep me away from him and he would motion with his hand for her to let me be. She said she then noticed his stomach jiggling from laughing at me.
Grandpa Glenn died when I was 11. I used to ride the bus downtown to eat lunch with him. Mom would put me on the bus just up the street from the house and he would meet me at a particular stop, then we'd go to the YWCA for lunch. The bus driver knew mom and Grandpa, he would tell me it was alright to get off because they saw my grandpa. He always had on a coat and tie, never left the house without a hat, rarely did not have a cigarette in his hand. Friendly, but a no nonsense type of guy. I remember him coming to the house to visit, I picked up his hat and was playing with it. He asked me if I had enough money to replace it. Every Christmas and birthday, my gift from him was a crisp $5 bill in a card that showed Abe Lincoln on the money when opened. Simply signed Grandpa. I saw him once without a tie and dress shirt, it was Christmas Eve, he had come home from work early the day before, though 78, he still worked. He forgot to go by the bank and get the $5 and card. Died two days after Christmas. The floral spray on his casket was not the one the family had ordered, the bus driver, Mr Walker, had ordered such a large spray of red roses, there was no where else to put them.
I was 25 when my Grandmothers died, both were 95. Grandma Scott was stern, mean, and hateful. To my Dad's credit, he went to visit her every Sunday afternoon. Grandma Glenn was a hermit. I remember her being at our house 1 time when I was 8 or 9. We talked on the phone some and we visited many Sunday's just after church. There were always boxes of Animal Crackers (Non PETA approved boxes) and Dr Pepper and Coca Cola. (Her sister and brother in law had opened the first CocaCola bottling company in Michigan, you simply didnt ask for a Pepsi) Sometimes Grandpa would go with us to eat out on Sunday. Grandma never went, I can count on on hand the times I even saw her out of the house, mainly on the front porch. All gifts from her were impeccably wrapped, because she only shopped on the phone with the department store. She was the oldest child of a small town doctor in Georgia (he also owned the pharmacy). She went to Emory College when she was 16. My Grandpa was to have said of her vocabulary "She can cuss you out, with a smile, and you'll never know you have been maligned". On her 95th birthday, all her living children, grands, and great grands gathered around her. We could give her any word, even new medical terms, and she could spell it correctly. She couldnt remember who I was, but she could spell. A couple of weeks after her 95th birthday she had to go to the hospital, she had pneumonia. One of my aunts was all upset thinking that the family gathering had made her sick. The Dr said "No. As we age, the muscle that keeps food out of our lungs as we eat gets progressively weaker. Food particles get in the lungs and cause pneumonia. We can only keep her comfortable". He then asked my Mom "when was the last time she saw a doctor, we dont seem to have much of a record". Mom replied " Well, I'm 55, and I'm not sure there was a doctor present when I was born at home".
I knew all four of my grandparents. My maternal grandparents lived in the same town until we moved when I was 7. They were both wonderful, married over 60 years, I think. Grandmommie was the only one in my family that supported me when I got married at 19. She just patted me on my hand and said, "Honey, I got married when I was 19 and everyone said it would never last. You just show them how wrong they are." So we did. Grandpaw outlived her by several years and came to live with my mother when the Alzheimer's got too bad. He was mentally about 4 when he moved here and about 2 when he died. Always sweet though.
My paternal grandparents were a different story. Pawpaw chain smoked all day. He started smoking before he got out of bed in the morning and didn't stop until after he was in bed at night. Us kids would all sleep in the one room he didn't go in, with the windows wide open even in the winter, then stay outside all day. If we had to go in, we would hold our breath as much as we could. I almost always had long hair and if I got too close to him he would grab me by my hair, pull out his knife, and threaten to cut it off. He died when I was in high school. Mamaw was always very stern, but she seemed much happier after he died.
Halloween never ends... It LURKS!
Silence is golden but duct tape is silver. (And more durable!)