I Was the Lucky One

I lived with my maternal grandmother for several stretches as a child. I called her "Grandmama," and in her two story home in St. Louis, Missouri, I would often yell at the top of my lungs from the kitchen when she was upstairs and I wanted a carrot, glass of milk, or piece of left-over chicken. I always put emphasis on the last syllable, "Grandma-MAAAAA!!"

I was the only grandchild until the age of six. I had one uncle, two aunts, and Leon, Grandmama's spouse, all to my disposal. Although my mother was not around all the time, I was given all the attention one child could want. I felt so special in that house. Leon would talk with me for hours about things I considered important. He really listened to my every word. Once, at the age of 3, I explained to him, "I want some fish, but I am broke." At that same age, my mother purchased me an Atari and while sitting on the living room floor playing Pac-Man I would yell, "shit...shit...shit" as the monsters closed in on me. My family would laugh as they shared stories about what crazy words came out my mouth that day.

Although I was surrounded by love we did not have much money. Grandmama received a food stamp check once a month and I always wanted to go with her to the grocery store. Knowing we would have food for the next four weeks made me happy. Never do I recall going to bed hungry. Often times, we had to use candles because the lights were turned off, and when it was time for my bath, Grandmama would heat the water on the gas stove. Still, never did I feel as though I was missing out.

As the holidays approached in 1992, I asked Grandmama when we would get our Christmas tree. The look in her eyes went from sad to determined. She asked, "Is it really important for you to have a tree this year?" I told her it was not, but the look in my eyes must have told her my mouth was lying. Three days later she asked me to come out in the backyard with her. I asked why and she said, "We are going to make our Christmas tree!"

Over the course of an hour the two of us cut down a dozen branches from dead winter trees. She then tied them together at their bases and spray painted them white. I watched as my determined grandmama used the same hands that made my dinner make my Christmas tree. We carried the white branches into the living room, propped it up in front of the window, hung our Christmas lights from them, and proudly displayed our homemade tree for the neighbors to see. The two of us then went into the front yard to see how it looked. Beautiful. Amazing. Special!

Honestly, I do not remember the Christmas, only making that tree with Grandmama. Some may think because we struggled I may have missed out on moments every child should experience. The truth is I wish every child had a moment like this with their grandmother. The joy I feel in my heart as I recall this memory, the tears that fill my eyes as I type this story, and the love Grandmama showed remind me loud and clear: I was the lucky one!