What’s Your Name?

When my daughter was expecting her first child she asked me what I wanted to be called.   I’d never thought about it. I didn’t name myself when I was born. My parents did that.  I didn’t choose my new last name when I married.  It came with my husband.  It somehow didn’t seem right to name myself as a  grandparent. I figured my grandchild would name me. But my daughter had a point.  Until the baby could talk I would be called something so I may as well choose what it would be.

When I was a kid grandmas were called grandma and grandpas were called grandpa. That’s what I and my siblings and all of my friends called our grandparents. But that’s not the name of choice these days. Friends of mine have special names for themselves. But none of them seemed to fit me.  So I did what any proud grandparent would do.  I Googled it. And there before me appeared a raft of possibilities.  I settled on MeMaw for no other reason than I’m not Southern and I like the sound of it.

The other day I was downloading music to accompany me at work and I pulled up a song I like by Wynonna Judd. Flies on the Butter. About growing up and thinking about the good old days when we were kids.

Below the song was a recent comment posted by a listener who said that after hearing this song she too, had decided to choose the name MeMaw for herself because she was soon to be a grandma.  Great minds.

My grandson is now 2 is and talking. His attempts at MeMaw have come out MiMi. And I like that name.

Turns out my grandchild did name me after all

 

 

A Dime and a Fudgesicle

I pulled into McDonald’s today to get my usual–an iced tea with no ice (I had to stop and ponder when one day, after placing my order, the employee said with a smile, “It’s not iced tea if it doesn’t have any ice.” Touche.  But what is it?  A cold tea?)  with two inches of sweet tea on the top (yes, with the sweet.)  I pulled out my dollar and my dime, because in my state I get to pay tax, too.  I do this about once a week but today, maybe because it was a hot summer day,  pulling out that dime sent me back five decades, back to when I was 11 or 12.

My younger brother decided he wanted to take up the violin and join our elementary school orchestra.  And because he wanted to take up the violin, I got to, too. It was one of the burdens of being the middle child. (My older brother took up the organ so I got to do that,  too.  But enough of that.)

So we spent the school year going to violin class once a week and then summer came.  For reasons now lost in the haze of years I was enrolled in a summer school violin class.  It wasn’t a disciplinary action.  I was a good, compliant student.  But it certainly wasn’t an honorary event either.  I was far from a great violist and I’m sure my practices were not music to my parents’ ears.  And why wasn’t my brother taking this summer class?  I have no idea.  But I was.

The summer session was not offered at my elementary school, an easy 6 block walk.  This class was at the district high school which was a goodly distance away.  I don’t recall how I got there.  Probably a combination of rides from my mother and trips on the bus.  Which is how I remember getting home.

After class I would go to the tree lined sidewalk in front of the high school where I would sit on the cement wall to wait for the bus.  And if I was lucky, down the sidewalk would come a little old man, an ice cream vendor, pushing his ice cream cart.  This sounds like it was the 1920’s but it was the early 1960’s.  We did have motorized vehicles back then, but this vendor pushed his cart.

I don’t remember any other students or any other adults being in the vacinity.  Just me.  And the ice cream vendor pushing his cart along the sidewalk.  As he drew near I would open my violin case and then open the little box that held the resin. And there I would find a dime.

I would hop off my cement wall, walk over to the ice cream vendor, and exchange my dime for a fudgesicle. Then I would return to my seat on the cement wall, savor my fudgesicle, and wait for the bus to take me home.