Kevin’s grandmother passed away last month. As his mom and her siblings begin the process of cleaning out her house, there has been talk about her grandkids wanting something to remember her by. All of this has gotten me thinking about those things I have from my paternal grandmother, the only one of my grandparents I ever knew. She passed away when I was eleven and although my siblings and I were not aware of this until we were adults (my parents were always careful to make sure we saw her at her best rather than exposing us to her less pleasant personality traits), she was definitely not happy with the fact that my dad married a Chinese women. She was born and raised in rural Utah and due to her upbringing and the general mores of the generation in which she belonged, her tendency toward racism was not a surprise (although it heartily ticked off my dad).
My grandma passed away in November and when her children were cleaning out her room at the nursing home, they discovered that she had already purchased and wrapped Christmas presents for my siblings and I. I remember opening them on Christmas and thinking about the fact that she had thought of us quite far in advance and thinking it was pretty neat. My gift was a copy of a book called “The Good Earth” by Pearl S. Buck. At the time, the book didn’t really mean anything to me other than the fact that it was the last gift my grandmother had given me. I didn’t even read the book until I was older, which was probably good because it is a pretty heavy read for an eleven-year-old. For those who don’t know, the book tells the story of a Chinese villager in the late 1800’s-early 1900’s. It won a Pulitzer Prize. And it most definitely is all about a Chinese man and his Chinese family and their Chinese culture living in China.
It wasn’t until now, nearly 35 years later, that I have had a realization. My Caucasian grandmother, who pitched a fit when my dad married my mom and proceeded to treat my mom in pretty rough ways until the end of her life, gave me a book all about China. I don’t know if she ever read the book herself, but the fact that she gave it to me seems like a sign that she had come to accept the whole interracial marriage thing. I can’t know for sure, but it seems to me that the giving of that book was a sign that she had made her peace with it all, that she was ok with us, mixed blood and all.
Funny how time, experience and perspective can teach us things when we are least expecting it. I feel like I’ve been given a little gift, a little glimpse into the mind of a woman I barely knew.
1 comment:
You made your mother cry, again! I had no idea Gramma Barney gave you that book. There were so many other things going on at the time, so I appreciate that you have taken the time to write this. I also appreciate how well you and your siblings, companions, and especially your children have come to embrace the fact that we are mongrels (your word) and peasants to boot! Thank you again, I love you and yours!
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