How well do you know your Grandma? Was she the typical loving old woman that baked cookies? Or was she a tired old crone who yelled at everyone? When was the last time you thought about her? Not from the perspective of a grandchild, but from the perspective of being a grown woman knowing the challenges she must have faced living in a sexist world.
My grandmother was born in 1918 on a farm in Azle Texas as the second of five children. She loved climbing trees but found wearing a dress when doing so to be cumbersome. So she wore her brother’s jeans, tied them with a rope around her waist since she had no belt, and up the tree she went. That’s where she was when my grandfather first saw her. He thought it was very strange for a pretty girl to be up a tree wearing a man’s trousers. It was 1932 and they were fourteen years old.
Their first date was when he invited her to church. The men all sat in the front while the ladies sat in the back. He told her to go sit with his mother and sister behind him and she refused. She told him, “No. You invited me. I’m sitting with you.” She became the first lady of the small town Baptist church to sit in the front with the men. But soon after, all the women started sitting with the men and in time, the congregation was intermixed among the pews.
They married in 1939 and she desperately wanted an education, but being a woman with little means, that was impossible. She gave birth to my mother and did what was expected of her, raised her daughter and kept house while my grandfather worked his way up from shoe salesman to manager of a retail store.
By the time my mother went to school full time, my grandfather owned that retail store and they moved from lower class farmers to upper middle class city folk. That’s when my grandmother decided to go to college. But my grandfather told her it was a ridiculous notion. Women had no need to be educated. He refused to pay for it. So, she worked odd jobs and saved. She would attend one semester, work again and save, then attend another semester. It took her eight years. And when it came time to register for her last semester, she didn’t have enough money and got very depressed. That’s when he came to her and said, “you made it this far. I’ll pay for it.”
I loved my grandfather. He was a kind and gentle father figure to me. And when I heard this story as a kid, I thought “how nice of Grandaddy to give her the money.” HER story of triumph became his story of rescuing a damsel in distress. But the truth is, that was THEIR money! Yeah, he was successful, but that’s because he had a wife that took care of all domestic and child rearing duties so he could focus 100% on his career. Yet she was treated like a child rebelling against an authority figure for wanting to go to college.
She went on to become a successful teacher for over thirty years making her own money and pension. When she was on her death bed she said, “he doesn’t get my money” and she gave it all to my mother. I thought she was being mean to him. Now, I get it. She was pissed. And had every right to be.
What did her determination teach him? Well, my mother went to college and my grandfather paid for it. It was 1958 and more acceptable for women to go to college by that time. After all, it was a great place to meet a husband.
When I was five years old, my grandmother told me I was going to college. She explained how important it was to get an education. I believed her and became the only one out of my mother’s children to get my degree. But by then, there was no money left. So, I paid for it myself. Just like her. And today as I write this, I have this picture of her on my desk.
It’s not the old grandma I remember from my childhood, it’s a strong woman whose determination and persistence runs through my veins. I know I would not be me without her being her.
What’s your grandma’s story? Email it to amongotherthingsnyc@gmail.com. We’ll pick one to read at our next event. Let’s honor all the grandmas and recognize what they did to pave the way for us.