Thanksgiving gratefulness, and loving our grandparents

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Posted by: RStokes
Date: Nov 27 2024 3:59 PM

Every day you’ll find me perched at a conference room table listening to the goings-on around town. 

The activity of the day is usually random, but some factors affect the level of insanity one can expect. Of course, the full moon always indicates something crazy will happen; a rainy day can have any discerning Dothan reporter expect to hear of a multitude of wrecks (being born and raised here, I know we can’t drive in rain); a holiday is bound to provide police encounters abound as some folks decide to reconcile disputes with a weapon. 

On this Thanksgiving eve, as I began to write this just after noon, we’d already covered a shots fired call from Kinsey, there have been at least three wrecks, and a vehicle has crashed into a house.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m grateful to have things to write about.

Thanksgiving is about just that; I’m ever grateful for my parents, who have stood beside me through every trip and fall I’ve gone through; and for my friends, with whom I have countless memories of laughs and hijinks and tears while figuring out life together; having a roof over my head; being able to eat every so often; my little tabby cat who eternally rejects the beds and toys I give her; the list goes on.

But today, right at this moment, I’m thankful for grandparents.

On days like this, I often think of not only my beloved Me-Me, the departed Joyce McKay Fleming, but also my best friend’s late Nana, Betty Pettis Langston. 

Often I’ll hear of something crazy happening—such as the time in North Alabama a lady called about a monkey wandering the streets (it was a cat; she didn’t have her glasses on, a frustrated firefighter eventually clarified)—and I’ll think, “God, I wish I could call Me-Me about this.”

Nana was an avid RSN reader. Today when a truck crashed into a home, I thought, “Nana would be all over this.”

I have fantasies in my mind of Me-Me still being alive, and the whole family being gathered at the dinner table for Thanksgiving lunch. Me-Me insisted the most important ingredient in any dish is a hefty cup of love. Back then, I could taste it in every bite. 

I see cardinals and think of her instantly, sharing her love for those bright reds and the sound of birdsong in the morning. 

Then my mind wanders to Nana, who once delighted in telling my friend and me about a songbird perching directly on her shoulder. 

I remember that phone call distinctly; my best friend and I were hanging around—knowing us back then, probably smoking cigarettes and giggling—and Nana called with the delight of a young girl in her voice to tell us about the bucket-list happening of a connection with such a beautiful little creature. 

But I’m not just thankful for them; I delight in an older lady calling me “sweetheart” or “honey.” I love it when a granddad jokes with me in line at the grocery store. There’s something about seeing a young child out with Memaw and Papaw that gives me a feeling of fulfillment. Seeing my boss (yes, the Rickey Stokes!) mirror his young grandson’s babyish babbles and wild arm movements when the grandbabies came to visit warmed my heart. 

Even though they’re gone, I’m still thankful for having had beautiful women like Joyce and Betty in my life. 

I miss the way Me-Me said my name. I miss getting strange voicemails in which she would simply say something like, “Did you know your right eye is bigger than your left eye?” I miss hearing her stories of pulling pranks on her fellow nurses at Mizell Memorial Hospital. I miss her humor and penchant for sarcasm. I miss her laugh. I miss her hugs.

I miss Nana’s after-school phone calls. I miss going to her house and trying to spot skittish cats hiding from intruders. I miss seeing the love she had for her family, and for me, even though I technically wasn’t kin. I know my best friend misses the same things I do tenfold. 

Now that Me-Me and Nana are gone, the traditions I remember so fondly have all but stopped, but new traditions are continuing. My parents and I will still have Thanksgiving dinner, and we’ll continue our new tradition of just enjoying each other’s company and eating ham and dressing. My best friend will be in town, and we’ll get together and shoot the breeze, this time sans cigarettes. 

I’m thankful for the lessons in kindness grandparents inevitably teach. I’m thankful for the quietly intense love they hold, love like a big gust of wind that nearly blows you down. I’m thankful for the memories of lazy afternoon days and eating as much pie as I wanted for breakfast the morning after Thanksgiving.

I’m especially thankful for all the grandmas and grandpas who are willing to be a grandparent for anyone who needs one at the time.

If they’re still around, hug your grandparents tight this Thanksgiving. Revel in the chaos of a Southern holiday. Listen to them and the wisdom they’re always willing to offer. 

I’ll be here watching birds and thinking of the incredible ladies I once knew. 

—Emma Daniel

RSN Reporter

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