Tan, sand-covered toes and Pillsbury Doughboy-sized bellies filled with biscuits and turnips. This is what was always left with us when my brother and I visited my grandmother’s house each summer. Souvenirs, like the shark-tooth necklaces she would buy us at the local Alvin’s store. Prizes, like the plastic figurines we would win at Funland, while we munched on corndogs and slurped up red slushies. These feelings will always take me back to the best days of my young life.
My grandmother is named Gabu. It is not a common name, and you won’t find it in Webster’s Dictionary. There is no description and no common word origin. Like most new grandmothers, her name originated from her first grandchild trying to pronounce grandma.
She always had a big glass of sweet tea, calling our names. We loved visiting Gabu’s house more than anything. To our young minds, it meant a few things: good Southern food, big hugs, and no rules.
With minimal technology available, visiting Gabu’s beach cottage was a step back in time. It now makes me thankful she taught me the value of a good book. I learned many life lessons without even knowing it, and I learned that kindness is the best gift you can give to others.
She would feed us anything we wanted, and made sure we didn’t leave her house hungry. Normally it would be her homemade chicken noodle soup or black-eyed peas, mashed potatoes with gravy and turnip greens.
Gabu would let us roam around and flourish in our young, creative minds. There was always an opportunity for cooking lessons, painting projects, or fort building. Although she was in her 60s, she played with us like a best friend.
When I came to college, she wrote me almost every day, detailing her adventures and making sure I knew she wasn’t forgetting about me. She would also send me bible verses to compliment her letters or life lessons. This shows how much she cares for others, and I will always admire that.
The thing that is the best about my grandmother is her giving heart. No matter what circumstance someone is going through, all she wants to do is help in any way that she can. She doesn’t see color, social status, or ethnicity. She even cooked an entire dinner for an old, homeless man’s funeral. She had never met him.
As a young adult, I am always meeting people that tell me how much she helped them through a difficult time. I am always meeting more of her nursing students that say their lives have been touched by her kindness and generosity.
She has taught me how to have a generous soul, and that is something you can only learn by watching the actions of others. I think anyone who has had a grandmother as wonderful as mine can understand the special bond between a grandchild and his or her “Nana,” “Mimi,” “Granny,” or “Gabu.”
I am forever thankful for what she has taught me in the years I have known her, and I look forward to many more lessons in the future.
