By Vicki Brown
Every family has an interesting character, and ours was Granny Freeman.
When I knew her, she was already aged and white haired, but she was funny, warm hearted and memorable. She had no filter and said whatever was on her mind, just like me. She was my great grandmother and a complete joy to be around.
Life had been unkind to Granny Freeman. In the early 1900s, she became the wife of a wealthy landowner, but the Great Depression and a series of poor crops found them bankrupt. Her husband was forced to sell his land, and he became a sharecropper. He moved his family out of the beautiful white Victorian farmhouse and into one of the sharecropper cabins on the acreage of his former home. There he worked the fields on what used to be his estate, becoming bitter and frustrated. He became abusive and his wife and three daughters suffered.
I vaguely remember him…a mean-spirited old man who sat in an armchair and completely ignored me while Granny Freeman laughed and chatted, serving us some nasty fruitcake. They lived in rundown apartments in Atlanta at that time, a perfect setting for his angry outbursts and abusive behavior. He passed away eventually, so my Granny went to live with one of her three daughters, Frances, who had inherited her personality as had my mother. On the other hand, my grandmother, another daughter, was more like her father, and she found my Granny (her mother) to be extremely annoying.
In my family’s yearly pilgrimages from the North to the South to visit family, we always made time to stop and see Granny Freeman, much to my grandmother’s disgust. It was the highlight of the entire trip. Granny always managed to sneak one-on-one time with me, reach under her rocker, and pull out a hidden box of chocolate bonbons, forbidden by the doctor and great aunt Frances. Together we would eat them and chat.
I remember one funeral we attended of a distantly related family member. Granny showed up in a red dress with a leopard print scarf and dangly earrings. My grandmother was mortified.
“Mother, why on earth are you wearing that! It is not appropriate for a funeral!!” fussed my grandmother.
“Listen, I didn’t like the man and I’m glad he’s gone. I’m celebrating,” quipped my Granny. I adored her.
One day the family decided to go to Stone Mountain. We insisted that Granny Freeman come along, and my grandmother reluctantly agreed. So off we went. At one point, we got in line to catch the train that chugs around the mountain. As we were about to board, suddenly my Granny shouted and took off running down the track toward the engine.
Now, she was rather hefty and in her early 90s at this point, so seeing her running was interesting. But what happened next was absolutely, hilariously shocking. She ran up to the conductor, grabbed him, and put him in a liplock. That’s right. She kissed him. And it was a kiss like no other…except seen maybe on television. I was mesmerized.
These were two very old people. At that time, in my early teens, I had no idea that people that old could even kiss, much less lay a kiss on each other for that long. My gawking was immediately ruined by my grandmother who yelled out, “Mother, STOP! What do you think you are doing!”
I thought that was a stupid thing to say…Granny obviously knew EXACTLY what she was doing, and she was having a wonderful time doing it!
Granny finally let the man go. Flushed with excitement and embarrassment, he looked to be at least her age, skinny as a rail, and wrinkled from head to toe. She turned around and called back to us. “It’s Roy! My classmate! I haven’t seen him since school!” she said. How in the world had she recognized him?
My Granny beamed as she proudly introduced him to the family. I had a strong feeling that he had been a former boyfriend. And as they parted company and we continued with our day, I looked at my Granny differently. She had lived the best way she knew how, had friends, had fun, loved people and God, and had been joyful all her life…in spite of setbacks and heartbreak. I wanted to be just like that.
One of my fondest memories is visiting Granny in the nursing home. She was 103, still beautiful, with few wrinkles and snow-white hair. She had just been crowned queen at the nursing home’s beauty pageant, and she was frustrated because a “young man was constantly chasing her around and wouldn’t leave her alone”. He was 89 and in a wheelchair.
I was a new mother and had the joy of introducing her to her first great, great grandson. As she held the baby close to her chest, she rested her face against his. “Oh…this feels so good,” she said softly, eyes closed. And as I hugged her goodbye, I rested my face against hers and had the same thought.
I never got to see her again. She passed away. But every time I hug my son, I remember her words.
