Nanny's Legacy

A visit to my grandmother’s house always offered remarkable stories. It didn’t matter if they were rhymed poems, prose, or plain stories. She had probably over a million thoughts to share. As a little child, I was mesmerized by everything she said, whether her words were true or made up. As a child, I never knew the difference, nor did I care. It was time spent with my grandmother and she never failed to entertain me.

When she would recite poetry, I was always amazed that she could remember, word for word, poems recited weeks or months earlier. I knew I wanted to be like her – a storyteller.

How I wish she’d have written all her thoughts and stories on paper. What a legacy that would have been. But back then, no one ever though that her words would mean nothing more than a way to entertain her grandchildren.

I can still remember sitting in her kitchen drinking a cup of English tea and asking, “Nanny, will you tell me the story about …?” Sometimes I’d ask for a specific poem. She never hesitated. How she remembered them all still boggles my mind but to my recollection, her memory never faltered, and her many stories and poems never changed. Sentence by sentence, word for word, her memory never faltered.

Oh, yes, I wanted to be like her. In my child’s heart, I wanted to be able to pull out of my memory, stories, and poems to tell my own grandchildren when I was that “old.” Nanny wasn’t old. At that time, she was only about sixty years old but to a child of five, she seemed ancient.

She also sang to me. There were so many songs and melodies that she never hesitated to vocalize.

When I was about six, she began asking me to tell her stories. “But, Nanny, I don’t know any.”

“Sure, you do. They’re all in here,” she would say as she gently tapped my head.

Nanny would pick up one of the apples she planned to use in the afternoon’s apple pie.

“Pretend you’re this apple. Use your imagination to think about what it might wonder why someone is holding you. Why did that person pick up you rather than another? Again, why not one of the others? What will she do with you?”

I thought for a minute or two and finally said, “Nanny, she’s going to use me in the most delicious apple pie. I’ll make the best pie possible. She picked me because I have the smoothest skin with just a hint of red.”

My grandmother smiled and encouraged me to do the same with a variety of objects. Then I heard her say to my mother, “She has the gift of imagination. What a joy this will be to watch her grow.”

As a child, it never dawned on me that writers have a fun way of lying. We lie, twist the truth, fabricate ideas and thoughts, and fly by the seat of our pants. We just use any method possible to entertain our readers. Yes, writing is fun. It allows our imaginations to run wild.

One area where my “line in the sand” is drawn, is that I will never write something that is completely false and claim it as fact. I may write something “based” on fact and when I do, I always mention that. Just like this story! Is it one hundred percent factual? Only as far as my memory will recall. There are instances where my child’s memory has failed so I allow my imagination to step in. Yet, the premise of this story is completely true.

I know that would make my grandmother proud.

When I was so much younger, I can recall (and yes this is a fact) her saying, “I don’t want you to follow my footsteps; I want you to walk in my shoes.” Thinking back, every time I saw her, which was daily, I often thought, “how am I supposed to walk in her shoes when she always has them on?” At that time, being so young, I took her words literally.

As I grew up, I used my own imaginative suggestions and rarely hers. My stories delighted my grandmother and mom. In high school, our English teacher, yes back then, we had a teacher who taught the English language, composition, and diction, would often ask the class to write a poem. In the beginning, she’d give us the subject, one of which was, “If I were a pencil.”

Maybe not so oddly enough, I was the only one in the class who completed the assignment in the given allowable amount of time. Yes, the teacher gave me an A+. I was never asked where my active imagination came from, nor did I offer any explanation. It was good enough to get me passing grades.

I love poetry however I admit I’m not that great at prose poetry. I love the steady rhythm of rhymed poems. Maybe that’s why I also enjoy a variety of musical compositions. Okay, so rap isn’t one of them but hey, no one’s perfect.

Another passion of mine is photography. While none of these hobbies will make me rich, I enjoy taking a photo and then giving it a title. Just like the one I’ve chosen for this little story about my grandmother. I called this one Nanny’s Legacy because even though I’m older now than she was in this photo, I can still feel her presence around me every time I write something. She’s encouraging me and guiding my words. She’s filling my head with thoughts and ideas. Her enthusiasm is what keeps me writing.

Whether or not I ever make money writing isn’t the issue. It’s the legacy I leave behind for my own children and their families, just like the one she’s left in our family - that through time has made me what I am: a writer and poet.