Grand to the 2nd Power

As long as we're spotlighting "grand" generations, I'll shine a fuzzy light on my own grandparents.

Paternal Grandparents:
William Robert "Grand-daddy Rob" Frazier and Allie Mae "Grandmother" Pardue Frazier. Actually, not sure if Grandmother's name was spelled "Mae" or "May," but folks just called her Allie, so I guess it doesn't matter.

When I was little Grandmother and Grand-daddy Rob lived on a farm in Henrietta, Tennessee. Daddy Rob didn't say much, but what he did say had a subtle humor about it. We loved him dearly because he made us laugh. Knowing Lil Sis Cindy loved cats, he'd always make sure there were plenty around whenever we'd visit. Other memories: sitting around the tiny coal fire, Daddy Rob smoking and coughing, and playing Rook.

Grandmother was always busy as a whirlwind - cooking, usually, but I'm sure she was doing other farm chores. I distinctly remember watching her go to the backyard and wring a chicken's neck so that we'd have yummy fried chicken for dinner. And I, for one, never minded eating that chicken, wrung neck or not. Grandmother never sat down at the table during meals. She was always re-filling our plates (took us forever to finish!) and sat on a high stool, so that she could easily pop up and down.

Maternal Grandparents:
George Warren Bartow and Ilder "Mama" Gresham Bartow - the Georgia grandparents. I don't have a grand name for George Warren because I only met him once. He gave me 50 cents. As best I can ascertain, Mama asked him to leave after her girls were grown. Maybe an alcohol problem? Certainly no divorce. Still, I never knew him. We called my mother's mother "Mama" because Mother and her sisters called her that. We grandchildren called our own mothers "Mother." Interesting.

I know from my Aunt Nell that George Warren was kind and hard-working. He loved Mama and all of his girls. It's hard for me to imagine what could've taken place to drive him out of the house, especially since it was a strict Southern Baptist household and seemed to frown on "broken" families. Mother never really talked about George Warren. I remember visiting his grave with Mother. I hope he found peace because he looked a gentle, but sad soul.

Mama was such a strong figure that I just never questioned her need for a corresponding grand-father figure. She was strict but loving. Mama was one of the original Bully Bartows; no question that she was boss. She was gorgeous in her younger days and had beautiful black wavy hair. She and I were never really close - I think I just tried to stay out of her way, since she never paid me any special attention except when I'd gotten into mischief. She doted on my cousin Steve, which was fine as far as I was concerned. By the time I was 8 or 9, hardening of the arteries (as it was known at the time) had set in. Talk about Confusions of Grandeur! Daddy once called her the Goddess of Confusion because she was so addled. After several years of her daughters trying to cope, Mama was finally put into a care facility in Dalton, Georgia. I always dreaded having to visit her, since she didn't know who I was and the place was depressing to a kid. She died a day or two before my 16th birthday.

I loved my grandparents, but I was never really close to any of them. Each had unique gifts and quality of character that leave me with fond memories. I admit to being kind of jealous of Kate and her generation for the relationship they had with my own parents - all the doting and spoiling. But it was a different time, and my grandparents had come of age in the first years of the 20th century.

This grandparenting thing has many facets, so I'll just have to see which qualities of my own grandparents I bring with me.