My Favorite Woman: A Memoir

The following is the revision of my memoir...

“Nanny Days,” I know it sounds like some kind of television show or maybe some sitcom, but when I was young that was my Wednesday. Each and every Wednesday my grandmother, one of the most beautiful women I have ever known, would pull up to our house and her and I would hang out while my parents were at work. We would do anything and everything we could in those seven or eight hours that they were gone.

If I had to pick a time that stood out to me the most it would be a night where we stayed at my grandparents house in Kennedy Township. Herbst Road is a road I will never forget. The house was modest, the people who lived in it were even more modest, but the love that I have for what happened in that house and the memories of that house are anything but modest.

That night was a night my grandmother and I decided to have a movie night. We drove to the Giant Eagle in Kennedy and bought Mulan on VHS. We proceeded to buy all the sundae essentials, chocolate syrup, ice cream, whipped cream, sprinkles, and whatever else we could fit into a little basket. We bought it all and headed back to Herbst Road. I remember creating a glorious sundae, and I remember sitting on the couch next to my favorite lady in the world and watching what remains to this day to be one of my favorite Disney movies.  That’s how I remember Nan. She was a simple woman, a beautiful woman, and a caring woman.

 The kitchen table at Herbst Road was glass and you could see right through it so when we would play go fish I would drop my cards on the floor on purpose to look at her cards that she laid flat on the tale. She knew what I was doing, I thought she didn’t but she did, and she never once called me on it. That’s just the way it was.

She and my grandfather were the best together. He loved her so much and she matched his love. I only heard the two argue once in all the time I knew them… It was a night I spent over their house and their fight, ironically enough, was over a can of mousse. That was it, mousse for your hair.

Nanny days were a great time in my life, a time I won’t forget. I can’t remember what we did those days except for something that I haven’t done since I was probably six years old. We played marbles. Nan would lay down a piece of yarn she had tied into a circle and we would play marbles. I remember that fondly. I don’t remember who won or lost, but I can remember sitting on the ground with her trying to knock her marbles out of the circle. Knowing Nan, she probably let me win.

My Nan passed away a little over ten years ago. I miss her dearly, but what I love is that most times I sit down to write a paper in class or at home I always have the urge to write about her. She meant so much to me and was only with me the first seven years of my life. If someone can have that profound an effect on me I feel like I should pay them homage.  I was hurt so bad when my Nan died. I cried for a long time the day I found out she was dead. I had come down the stairs to find my mom crying on the couch and knew something was wrong. It wasn't until I got to high school that I realized how much I miss her. I do miss her dearly.

Jacqueline Spine, my Nan, was the greatest woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I don’t think that until I find someone as great as her I will ever play marbles again.

That was our thing, and someone pretty special would have to come along for me to let them in on it. I hope that Nan’s looking down on me saying she’s proud of me because that’s all I want. I want her approval. I was so young she when she died that she never got to see me play sports or excel in school, but I know that she has seen it all. It’s just hard whenever you can’t ask, “Hey Nan, did you see that?”

I preach about living life with no regrets, but I do have one. I always say that I don’t but I do. I regret the fact that I haven’t gone to see my grandmother’s grave in over three years. I think I’m going to make that trip soon, anybody willing to take me?

NP: Over My Head- The Fray