Gram

Gram

Gram lived not even a half mile down the road from where I grew up. “I’m going down street to see Gram,” was a common enough phrase from me any day of the week. I enjoyed going to see her for two very special reasons – she always had cookies, and she knew how to listen. The variety of cookie available at Gram’s changed each week because my cousins and I would do our best to ensure they never grew stale. There were Toll House, date filled, peanut butter drops, regular peanut butter, jelly drops, and the list could go on.

As much as the cookies changed, her patience to listen to my stories, complaints, and dreams was consistent. She always seemed to know when I needed to talk and get something off my chest. She would brew some tea for herself, I would get cookies for both of us and my drink, then we would go to the back porch and talk. She would sit quietly and nod, or say uh-huh or some other acknowledgement that she had heard and understood. After I was done she would think for a minute and then proceed to give me her interpretation of what I had said and then offer some suggestion if one was warranted or wanted. Problems didn’t seem so bad when we looked at them through cookies and milk.

Gram was a strong woman who didn’t hesitate to let you know how she stood on an issue. Yes, she was a good listener, but if you asked her opinion you were expected to listen in return. You didn’t have to agree with her, but you sure didn’t want to just blow her off either. I learned how to listen to people from her. She gave me plenty of opportunities to practice those skills as she shared her stories of childhood and adult life, her friends, and our home town. I never tired of those stories even if she had told them before, because each time they were told there was another little fact or tidbit that I could pick up.

I miss her, but remember her fondly as I sit and listen to people’s stories, tales, or complaints, nodding and saying uh-huh, while drinking tea and eating cookies. Thanks Gram.