Bright Eyes and Square Shoulders

I was well into my monologue on all of the reasons why the decisions for this upcoming school year felt daunting, and why the pressure for teaching them well felt on.
My mother sat still except for a nod.
What if my teaching skills came up lacking?
What if my girls fell behind?

I presented, as witness, my example:
A friend who had obviously not been homeschooled well at all, and who, as a result, had struggled in several areas to succeed.
“The girls will be fine,” assured my mother,
and I could tell she was about to go on.

“Did you know that your Nonnie was a high school drop out?”

My eyes were now as intent on her as my ears.

Married at 15, and a mother by 17, my grandmother’s life had always been a source of family lore,
but this coming story was brand new, and amazing to me.

“She married young, and raised her family, and worked all without ever finishing school,” My mom continued.
“But she always wanted more for herself.
It wasn’t until she was in her 70’s that she decided maybe it was time to get her GED, so she did.”

My mouth hung open at the thought of my little 70 something, perm-headed grandma bent over a paper study guide, scratching the end of her pencil along to fill in the dots that would become stepping stones to a diploma toward the end part of her life.

I thought about the heritage of pushing on that she had left:
Living through The Depression, and World Wars, illnesses, and loss had left her with short, but firmly squared and steady shoulders;
A fire burning in her eyes.

She knew exactly what she knew,
and if you challenged her, she’d just close her eyes so that she didn’t have to see you talking,
and she would just make sure she talked louder than you.

She knew a good president when she saw one,
and she displayed any photos of the ones she supported plastered around her guest bathroom proudly over top of the 60 nail holes she had made trying to hang each one up.
It made it awkward to go to the bathroom,
or to strip down for a shower there under the gaze of so many heads of this country,
but my grandpa had died on voting day of a massive heart attack directly after placing his vote,
and so she would be darned if your discomfort over simply standing in the suit that God gave you under the gaze of such mighty men was going to change where she hung them.
I can almost hear her say it now.

A President Bathroom.

I think she almost fought me once when I put popcorn in the microwave for two minutes and thirty seconds when she knew, without a doubt, that her microwave only took two minutes even.
Not one second more.
I told her I’d just stand, then, and listen,
which is when she catapulted herself up from her electric recliner like it had an eject.
You’ve never seen an old woman come towards a thing so quickly, and I will never again make popcorn without thinking of that day.

She never learned how to swim.
She just hopped on one toe so it looked like she had.

I smiled as my mom brought to mind this firecracker, with fighting for things in her blood.

I smiled thinking of ways I see her in me,
and in my girls – each and every one.

In my oldest, a love of recipes, and making something that is all her own.
A heart that loves to welcome.
A heart that focuses on making a home.

In my thirteen year old, I see how she nurtured.
She knew everyone’s favorite dish.
She’d give anything to make you happy.
She said, “I’d stop a running saw mill for my grandkids.”

In my 11 year old, her love of making people smile.
I see how she passed down love of babies.
I know she would have so loved this specific one of mine.

In my youngest I see her fiery eyes.
Those Irish ones are really a thing.
I see the way no one could tell her where to go,
or what to think.

When my Nonnie was 10 years old, her father pastored a church.
Back then, it was unbecoming of a pastor’s child to
be caught doing something as unsavory as attending a movie, but oh, my Nonnie did love that Shirley Temple, so she snuck into a theater and watched Bright Eyes all alone on the big screen.
As she exited the theater afterwards, a member of her father’s congregation saw her coming out,
and as fast as they could, they went to tell on her to her dad.
Before long the word was fully out.
Norah Annabell Murphey had attended a MOVIE.
What a true outrage!
So unheard of was this act of clear defiance against all that was decent that her father did all that he really could do:

He kicked her right out of his church.

So, the very next day, as her family all left in their Sunday best, looking down their noses at that family disgrace, my 10 year old grandmother dusted herself off, got her own self dressed, put on her shoes,
and walked alone to the church across the street from her father’s,
where she became a member there on her own.

On this same day that we sat laughing,
and recounting all of these memories,
I saw an ad online for a local estate sale, and asked my mom if she would like to go.

Two hours later, and we were walking the halls of a house of an elderly woman who had recently passed. Her grandchildren wore aprons as they sold off all her things.
Flash bulb cameras, and figurines, a briefcase full of cutlery.
Tools and trunks were in the workshop.
Vinyl records, and costume jewelry.

The golden light of the afternoon only made each new treasure seem more unique.
I felt transported into the life of this woman whose story was a mystery to me;
But as we walked outside, and were about to head back home, on a small table sat a pile of VHS tapes, and I heard my mom gasp as from the pile she pulled a treasure of her own:

A copy of Shirley Temple’s Bright Eyes.
A reminder of where we’d come from.

“Oh!” She gasped.
“This makes me cry.”
Her voice cracked as she held it to her chest.
I smiled and gently took it from her, and went inside to buy that one treasure that, in a house full of valuable things, had stood out most to us.

“Oh! Do you have a VHS player?” One of the grandchildren in an apron smiled.
“No,” I answered. “But we have a family story.”
I thanked her, and carried it back out the door.

I bought two things that day at that sale:
An antique book bag, and that copy of Shirley Temple’s Bright Eyes,
which to me will forever remind me of my grandmother.
Of the parts of history we should not move on from.
Of the part that lives in us all that can never be
silenced, or be trampled down.

Who we are and where we come from remains forever unbroken.

Close your eyes and make the loudest sound.

I bought those things as a reminder that even though this world feels fast-moving, increasingly rigid, and unkind;

My girls will know they come from a line of strong, educated, and often feisty women
who would never stand for being left behind.

Mom Outnumbered

Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.