My grandparents are here! It took my brother and I 40 minutes to drive to Newark Airport last night, and then we drove around the airport for an hour and a half. The flight was late and there isn't anywhere that you can park without paying, so we literally just kept driving in circles for an hour and a half, waiting for my grandparents. At least we had good music with us. And we got them home without any problems.
Heather, you inspired me to think about my family members and how different we all are. So here we go on my grandparents: I love my grandparents. They're southern; my mom's anscestors have lived in the South since before the Civil War. My grandmother has this story about her relatives landing in Virginia among the first settlers and then eventually walking to Georgia with their 22 slaves. I think my southern family history has made me fascinated with the South; I love studying it and trying to understand it.
My Grandad is, without a doubt, the funniest person I have ever met. He's hilarious. He also has very old-fashioned, southern ideas. He's racist and homophobic and doesn't intend to change his ideas anytime soon. Last night he yelled at my brother for wearing his hat inside the house and at my mom for allowing him to do so. A couple of years ago I walked in the NYC AIDS Walk and he did not approve because he believes that only gay people get AIDS and they deserve it. I hate having to type that, but it's what he thinks. He is extremely blunt; he has no qualms about saying exactly what he thinks. I'm terrified to go out in public with him lest he say something offensive, which is always very likely to happen. My mom always tries to convince him to open his mind a little, but he argues that there's no point in trying to make him change his ideas this late in life. He never calls me Claire when he's talking to me. He calls me Clarice or Clarissa. My parents intentionally named my brother (Brett) and me with one-syllable names that can't be shortened. My mom's name is Elizabeth, and she tried to go by that through the first twenty-something years of her life. She hated how other people kept giving her nicknames, though. Different people called her things like Liz and Beth, and her parents didn't even stick to Elizabeth (they alternated between Libbie and Betsey). Her twin brother is named Robert (he now goes by Bob), so throughout their childhood (until they were old enough to rebel) they were Bobby and Betsey. Now my mom just goes by Betsey (although my grandparents call her Libbie). Anyway, the point of that long digression was that my mom wanted my brother and I to each have one possible name because of the frustration that she experienced. And my grandfather managed to get around that by elongating each of our names. Brett becomes Brettsky or Brettster and I become Clarice or Clarissa. Which I love. Despite Grandad's prejudices and faults, he is hilarious. He is constantly making me laugh. And he is very loving towards his family. And I love him very much, despite all his faults. He always ensures interesting conversation.
My grandmother just might be my favorite person in the world. She is more open-minded than her husband. She is tolerant and accepting and easy-going and selfless. She loves movies and musicals as much as I do, and she always sends me her many magazines after she finishes reading them. She also clips out specific articles that she knows I'll like. She is absolutely wonderful and I love her to death.
I have to go now, my grandfather is complaining that I'm not joining them for lunch. So I'm off. Here's my grandparents after falling asleep on our couch:
1 comment:
too funny - hope you are getting some rest as well!
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