Well, ok, there was the time I showed somewhat of an interest in the Pittsburgh Steelers (thanks to a friend in Pennsylvania and the TV series This is Us).
Basically, I just wanted a Steelers jersey. I thought it would make me look cool.
In an attempt to be helpful, my relatives (avid football fans) presented me with the book Football for Dummies. Note: It didn’t help.
Then, I moved to Kansas. My friends in Kansas were (you guessed it) Chiefs fans. They invited me to watch Chiefs games with them during dinner. My friends were good cooks, so I didn’t say no.
I still didn’t know much about football, but I picked up a thing or two about a couple of fellows named Kelce and Mahomes.
By the time the Chiefs made it to the 2023 Super Bowl, I was emotionally invested. My nerves were a bundle of live wires.
Toward the end of the game, my Kansas friends had to calm me down.
“Just breathe, Otts. Everything’s going to be ok.”
And it was ok. The Chiefs won.
I experienced euphoria and a personal sense of superiority. My team won! Na-na-na-naah! Na-na-na-naah! Hey, hey, hey! Goodbye! (That's tongue-in-cheek, by the way. I tend to Mother Hen both teams.)
Eventually, I returned to my hometown in Georgia.
Nowadays, I can almost, sorta follow along with my family’s football discussions.
For instance, I somewhat fathom what a touchback is. I instinctively know when to yell at the referees. And I totally get the phrase “Boomer Sooner!” (My Kansas friends have a cat named Boomer.)
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| Boomer |
Then, there’s Coach Nick Saban. Thanks to a video a friend posted on Facebook, I know that Coach Saban is a heck of a dancer.
See! When it comes to football, I know things.
In fact, when the whole Taylor/Travis situation blossomed into a fireworks display of cosmic proportions, I knew slightly more about Travis than I did about Taylor.
Out of touch, you say? ‘Tis true. My little planet revolves around classic rock bands. (“Still like that old-time rock ‘n’ roll - that kind of music just soothes the soul.”)
My Kansas bestie, Bets, filled me in about Taylor and her music. Next thing I knew, Bets and I were having text-fests about the T’s (that’s Taylor and Travis, for newbies).
Once again, I found myself watching Chiefs games (and hyperventilating). I don’t know how emotionally invested football fans make it through games.
In an attempt to bring me up to speed on current world events, Bets shared one of her favorite Taylor songs with me - a song I hadn’t expected.
The beauty and the sensitivity of this song took my breath away. It’s a song that Taylor wrote to honor her grandmother, Marjorie. The song and the video are exquisite.
That’s the magic of music, eh? It connects us on an emotional level. It helps us relate to ourselves and to others.
I still don’t know much about football, or about Taylor (other than her making history, yay!), but I do know a thing or two about grandmothers.
Taylor’s grandmother was a strong, beautiful, extraordinary woman.
So was my grandmother.
My grandmother’s name was Ruell.
In her youth, Ruell’s black hair sported a stylish Flapper bob. Her eyes were Irish blue. Her high cheekbones were gifted to her by (they say) a Cherokee ancestor.
According to my mom, Ruell was voted the MVP (most valuable player) for her Kentucky high school’s girl basketball team.
A female basketball team in the 1920s? Yep. It was a thing.
By and by, Ruell fell in love with a young Cavalry soldier named Wade.
They were married on Christmas Eve. (Wade and Ruell remained together for nearly six decades.)
As quite a few Kentuckians did in those days, Wade and Ruell migrated to Akron, Ohio. Wade worked at one of the rubber plants there.
Eventually, Wade and Ruell introduced two daughters into the world (my mother and my aunt).
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| Ruell and My Mother |
Life in Akron proved to be good for the family.
In the wintertime, the local fire department would flood a vacant lot. The water would freeze, creating a makeshift ice-skating rink for the neighborhood kids.
Warm weather brought Akron’s Soap Box Derby (a special racing event for children).
As pleasant as life was in Akron, my grandparents did face a few blips along the way.
The first blip in their marital tranquility took the shape of Ruell’s mother-in-law (my great-grandmother Effie).
Think of Miss Gulch from The Wizard of Oz, and you have some idea of what Effie was like.
In her younger days, Effie even looked like Miss Gulch. Her wedding picture showed a stern woman standing next to her good-natured husband.
In her later years, Effie transformed into a plump, little sparrow with soft, white hair. She looked deceptively harmless. Innocent bystanders often commented on how sweet Effie looked. The family knew better.
Folks were amazed at Effie’s proficiency in playing Chinese Checkers. Effie always won.
“That’s because she cheats,” my aunt would explain.
Effie lived to be 103 years old out of sheer orneriness.
We credited her longevity to her diet. Every day, Effie would partake of a cookie, a banana, and a Dr. Pepper.
Throughout the years, whenever Effie came to visit, my grandmother found reasons to check herself into the local hospital for “a little rest.”
(Modern insurance companies have ruined it for women who need to escape their mothers-in-law.)
Besides unsettling situations like Effie, my grandparents also had to worry about an impending space alien invasion (granted, Ruell might have bargained with the aliens to abduct Effie).
My grandparents were among those who were taken in by Orson Welles’ 1938 radio drama, The War of the Worlds.
Years later, my mother laughed about it but - at the time - the family was a bit freaked out.
A much more serious event took place with the bombing of Pearl Harbor.
At the age of 13, my mom stayed home from church to babysit her ill younger sister.
My grandparents attended the evening church service but - because of the Pearl Harbor attack - the congregation cut short the service.
At the time, no one knew how extensive the attack might become. As a city with a major rubber plant industry, Akron stood a fair chance of being a target.
My mother told me that - out of caution - the city’s streetlights were shut off. The church folks were urged to drive without turning on their car headlights. For my grandparents, it was a dark and frightening drive home.
Meanwhile, my mom and my aunt had learned about Pearl Harbor from a radio report. They took shelter in a closet until my grandparents returned home.
After that, life tilted for my family. Ruell’s health began to decline. Her doctor urged her to move to a southern climate.
Ruell and her daughters moved to Texas. Wade stayed in Ohio and continued to work at the rubber plant.
During World War II, Wade would visit his family by train whenever he could.
During one trip, the train was filled to overflowing with young soldiers. All seats were taken.
My grandfather had to stand up the entire train ride, from Ohio to Texas. His ankles were badly swollen by the time he made it off that train.
Despite the inconveniences for Wade and Ruell, the hot climate of Texas seemed to boost my grandmother’s health.
The ladies in my family took kindly to Texas (even if they did have to check their shoes for lurking scorpions).
Eventually, my grandfather left his job in Akron. My grandparents bought a general store in Brandon, Mississippi.
As the years passed, my mother and my aunt grew up, moved away, got married, and started families of their own. The whole kit and kaboodle would return to Mississippi each Christmas.
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| My Grandmother and My Aunt |
All seemed well - but life has a way of shaking things up.
To my grandparent’s dismay, the local authorities seized their beautiful home (a la eminent domain) to make way for a new highway.
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| Wade and Ruell |
Wade and Ruell moved to Georgia (to be near their family).
Around the age of sixty, Ruell fell and broke her hip. At that time, Parkinson’s Disease set in with a vengeance.
The treatments offered could not halt the damage Parkinson’s Disease caused to my grandmother’s body.
My grandmother became bedridden. The former MVP basketball player was benched for life.
She could no longer hug her grandchildren. She could no longer whip up one of her famous meals (her Sunday roasts and homemade noodles were legendary).
Ruell's world closed in on her. She watched her husband spend his retirement years taking care of her.
She experienced having her bedpan emptied by her family members. Her freedom and her dignity were stripped away.
Yet, Ruell endured. Not once did her family members hear her complain.
Despite her lack of mobility, Ruell continued to be the heart and soul of our family.
We often went to her for advice about mealtimes. My grandfather often asked her opinion about daily life matters.
She helped my cousins and me with schoolwork. She let us sneak candy from her everlasting stash of Russell Stover.
We watched television shows with Ruell. We borrowed paperbacks from her mile-high stack of books.
We shared our days with her. We sought her love and encouragement.
One day, I came home in a rage. Some of my sixth-grade classmates had bullied a kid at school.
As I steamed about the injustice of it all, my grandmother quietly said, “I’ve always believed it’s a good idea to treat others with kindness and respect.”
That day, I saw - really saw - my grandmother for the first time.
In my young mind, the words “invalid” and “bedridden” were replaced with the words “strong” and “wise.”
My grandmother’s philosophy has stuck with me. Her words will stay with me for the rest of my life.
Kindness and respect.
We are torchbearers. Do we use our light to help others? Or do we use our light to scorch the earth?
My grandmother lost so much. Yet, she was the very embodiment of Tennyson’s words:
"Though much is taken, much abides; and though we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven, that which we are we are: One equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
The only time I ever heard my grandfather curse was on the day my grandmother died.
With his head resting in his hands, my grandfather said softly, "Damn."
In that one word, I sensed his momentous loss.
I often feel the paradox of life and death. Sometimes it feels like the people I have loved and lost are still with me. To echo a verse in Taylor's song:
I'd think you were
talking to me now
If I didn't know better
I'd think you were
still around."
As the years pass, it is my grandmother's gentle strength I remember the most. It is her kindness I strive to hold up as a torch to light my path.
Here’s to strong women everywhere. May we treat them (and ourselves) with kindness and respect.
you forget to be kind.”
~ Taylor Swift (Marjorie)
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