Awards, Parties, and the Macarena (The Memoirs of Grandma)

I may not have been born into a well financed family or a family that has it all figured out, but I could almost argue that I was born into one of the most dysfunctional, yet hilarious families. Sometimes I have been asked if the stories I blog about or the stories I tell are made up, and they really aren't. Since the day I was born, many things have happened in my life that make for great stories.

Many people who know me on a more personal level have heard me tell countless numbers of stories about my grandmother and her hilarity. I didn't really realize how humorous she was when I was growing up, but looking back on it, the stories I have about her bring me to laughter. I find myself quoting her on my Facebook statuses or sending random texts to various people about things I hear her yell at the television. I am so fortunate to have her, and I am so glad she took me in after my mom passed away when I was nine. Not only is she entertaining, but she takes really good care of me and I love her.

With that being said, many people have requested that I blog about her. I decided to keep my readers happy, I would write about a few of the occasions that Grandma has made me laugh/smile/roll my eyes/stand with my mouth agape.

The most recent story took place just a few weeks ago. It was the last day of my spring break, and I was supposed to go to my little cousin's seventh birthday party. I really did not want to go because it would press me for time to get back to school, and I wasn't planning on going. However, that plan did not fly with Grandma, and one thing you learn right away is that Grandma will either trick and/or guilt you into doing what she wants you to do... especially if she knows your weakness.

Before I could even realize that my grandmother had tricked me into going to this party, I was already parking my car outside the building where the party was held. I saw that a lot of people were leaving, and I was happy because I figured this meant I wouldn't have to make conversation with everyone. I love people, and I love my family, but these occasions usually turn into competitions to see who is doing better. This was no exception. I gave my little cousin her card and present, then, I looked around to try to avoid conversation. One of my cousins offered me some cake. Not only did I gladly accept because I pretty much would marry cake if it asked for my hand in marriage, but I wanted to cram my mouth full in order to seem repulsive to anyone who would think it was a good idea to talk to me. Despite my attempts to look like a deranged pig as I stuffed my mouth full to avoid conversation, my aunt still decided that chatting with me was a necessity.

Her attempts to pry into my life only so she could one-up me with stories about how my amazing, younger cousin is better than me finally ended and everyone started to leave. The same cousin that offered me cake handed me more cake. However, my cousin made it clear that I was not to eat this (probably because of how I ate my first piece like I was starved, even though I wasn't) and to take it to my grandmother since she couldn't make it.

Annoyed with the whole ordeal, I returned home with the cake. I was ready to unwind and tell my grandma about how I really didn't want to go to anymore of their parties. My grandma had always been so caring and supported me in my decisions to not do things I did not enjoy.

As I walked in the door, there my grandmother was waiting with what I assumed to be comfort and a listening ear.

All attempts of ever not going to a party again flew out the window. As long as I went and was able to bring home cake, it meant she did not have to go.

Going back to the idea of how my family can be narcissistic and try to one-up people, it has always made me uncomfortable. Not only does the whole idea seem a little immature to me, but if we're being honest, I don't really do much that would defend me against the stories of how awesome my cousins are at sports or anything like that. Therefore, I try to steer away from the competition. That's not so much the case for Grandma. She is VERY willing to brag for me in my place. It has been a little odd at times to watch her brag to our mailman about how I made Dean's List or something like that.

Naturally, when I received a letter my junior year of high school to attend an award's ceremony at our school, my grandmother was thrilled and insisted we attend. The catch was they didn't tell us what award I would receive. I, for the life of me, could not figure out what award it would be.

The night of the award ceremony, I sat front row with my grandma and a couple other of my friends who were getting awards. The ceremony progressed and on one of the very last awards, I was called to receive a letter for holding an "A" in all of my music classes for six consecutive semesters with my friends and about twenty other individuals. Excited that I received the award, I returned to my seat, only to see my grandmother with an unimpressed look on her face. I figured maybe she didn't understand what just happened, so I decided to explain.

A year later, we received another letter for the award ceremony. I was a lot more enthusiastic about this one, and I had a better feeling because my grades my senior year had truly been outstanding. Grandma did not want to sit through the award ceremony again if it was going to be like last year. I assured her I couldn't get that award after I had already earned it once, so she reluctantly agreed to go with me.

My gut feeling was right. My digital photography teacher walked across the stage and up to the podium. She announced my name for her outstanding photography student. This was a big deal to me. I had never attempted photography before that year. No one in my family knew that this was a talent I possessed... I didn't even know I possessed it. I came back to my seat with my award smiling. I knew my grandmother would have to be happy this time. She saw all of the work I had put into my giant photography project. But, when I returned, she had the same look she had last year. Once again, I decided to explain what just happened.

In all fairness, I did get a pretty decent award later on that night. I don't really remember what it was exactly. It was for seniors who completed a certain variety of courses and obtained honorable grades or something like that. Only a handful of seniors got it, so my grandma was impressed with that. Not sure why when I was the ONLY ONE who got the photography award.

My all time FAVORITE story about my grandmother takes place when I was a young girl. My elementary school was quite interesting in the fact that every year in gym class, we would have sessions on dancing. We didn't really learn anything in particular. We would try to learn the Twist, but we would just dance around in a crazy fashion. The real goal was to get the girls and boys to be okay with dancing with each other by the time fifth grade rolled around because that is when school dances started.

This particular story takes place at the end of first grade. I was six-years-old and being babysat by my grandma while my mom worked. I had just finished a day of school, got off the bus, and walked inside with my grandma. As usual, she asked me what I had learned in school. I usually never remembered a whole lot of what I had learned, but I knew if I could distract Grandma with one thing I learned, she wouldn't ask me anymore. I decided that since my grandmother loved dancing, I had my key to not being questioned anymore.

Who was I? A six-year-old to argue with her grandmother about how to do the Macarena? She was having so much fun doing it her own special way, and I knew she was more than likely not going to listen to me. Plus, if I was nice about it, she wouldn't ask me to recall anything else I learned. I let her do her own thing thinking that it couldn't do any harm.

A few weeks later, it was the end of the year, and with the end of the school year comes my birthday. I had recently moved from roller skating to rollerblading, so my mom had decided to have my birthday party at the roller rink. Everything was going great. It was the best birthday party a now seven-year-old could ask for... until the dance contests started. At first, they seemed harmless with the Chicken Dance and the Hokey Pokey. Then, it happened.

I thought maybe she didn't hear it. I prayed that old age had played against her listening function, but to my horror it didn't. When I looked over, I saw my grandmother bolting (this is the only time I have seen my grandmother bolt, by the way) right towards me.

I swallowed my pride and decided if questioned by my friends, I would deny any responsibility for her actions.

 

For approximately the next three minutes this process was repeated. I did my best to ignore it since this was the ONE contest that would be judged for a winner. I could not let my grandma ruin my focus. I would win this!

The dance ended, and I could not believe what followed. My mouth literally dropped to the floor when my grandma was announced the winner.

Now, I would like to say I learned my humility and modesty from my grandma. However, that is not what I learned from her. What I learned from my grandma is to make people laugh and when you're old you can brag and get away with anything. Therefore, I would like to tell you my grandma accepted this award in the most humble manner, but Grandma also taught me honesty.

There you have it. Just a few instances that show how my grandma brings a smile to my face. I really do love her, and I do not know what I would do without her. Here's to you, Grandma! I love you more than life itself and thanks for everything!

This Was Supposed to Be about Perception, but it Ended Up Being about Ice Cream and Geese

I apologize for the delay for this. I was having a hard time finishing the drawings for this because of stupid things such as assignments and forgetting to hit the save button before I finished the drawings.

A couple of weeks back, I realized that I have yet to blog about my favorite person in the world: my brother. His name is Sean, and he means the world to me. He's actually my half brother (different dads), but he's like a real brother to me. We both don't really keep in contact with our dads and our mom raised us both, so he was like a full, hardcore brother to me. He's also like a father-figure to me since he is fourteen years older than me. Our mom died when I was nine, so he is the closest family I have.

Despite us being close, my brother and I are two VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY different individuals.

Even when I think we could be similar, we're not.

Sean currently lives in South Dakota (how he ended up there is too long of a story for this blog). We Skype and talk on the phone more than most siblings. In fact, I would say I talk to my brother AT LEAST three times a week, and I quite enjoy it.

Recently, there was one incidence that very much demonstrated our differences while I was talking on the phone with him. What I am about to show you is my interpretation/perception of what happened on the phone. Since, I am quite some distance away from my brother, I have no idea what actually happened except what I heard. Based on what I heard, I drew (no pun intended) my own conclusions of what was happening.

Now don't get me wrong. I love ice cream just as much as the next hormonal female (not to refer to my brother as a hormonal female... he's actually quite manly), but I've never been one to actually crave it. I get ice cream when it's available to me, but I never go out of my way to get ice cream. Let's be honest here, if you want ice cream, then you're probably not wanting to do much to obtain ice cream. Ice cream is one of those foods that you already feel the consequences of eating it when you're thinking about eating it.

Another thing is that I have a hard time actually remembering that ice cream trucks exist. My brother and I grew up in a small, rural ghost-town in southwestern Ohio. It was at one time, like most small towns, a lively community, but it died over time. With my brother being significantly older than me, he managed to live through a time where the town had some life in it and ice cream trucks ran rapid through the streets. I, on the other hand, only saw an ice cream truck pass through our town ONCE and I thought I was hallucinating.

My first and only experience getting ice cream from an ice cream truck was of course with my brother when he was living in Tennessee. My brother's ice cream radar went off and he ran right out the door, leaving me, his fifteen-year-old sister, to wait on his six-year-old son so he would have someone to walk outside with. Yes... that is right... my brother was more excited than a fifteen-year-old and a six-year-old.

With watching my brother at this point in life, I think my imagination is pretty spot on when it comes to predicting what happened when the ice cream truck decided to make a route through the part of Rapid City, South Dakota where my brother resides.

And pretty soon, I went into little sister mode.

Clearly, I don't understand my brother's longing for the ice cream truck. I also didn't understand his disappointment when the ice cream truck never came. In my opinion, I figured if he wanted ice cream that bad, he could drive to the store to get some. No, let me take that back. Every time I have ever went to visit my brother, there has been ice cream there so I can almost GUARANTEE that while this was happening, there was ice cream in the freezer. But no... "it's the principal of it all!"

Do not get me wrong because it's moments like these that make me glad that Sean is my brother. He always manages to make me smile in the best ways. I think he may just be one of the funniest people ever, and sometimes, I wonder if we are the only two that find each other funny.

The reason I wonder this is because of one particular incident that I am POSITIVE no one else would laugh at except for us. This incident took place the same summer of my first ice cream truck experience. Sean had just brought me back to Ohio after spending some time with him in Tennessee. We ventured to a place near home where there was an arcade, go carts, and putt-putt golf. After my brother destroyed me in putt-putt, we headed into the arcade where he convinced me to play Dance Dance Revolution for the first time ever.

Despite how horrible I was at first, I ended up getting slightly better. I was slightly behind my brother, and the last match would determine who would win. It was neck and neck. Then, all of the sudden the power went off. It came back on within ten seconds, and after our chorus of "NOOOOO!"s and "I WAS SO CLOSE!!"s, we turned around to see people outside with shocked looks on their faces.

Sean and I went outside, and we approached one lady that had her hands over her mouth to ask what happened. She informed us that a goose had flew into a transformer which is what caused the power outage. My brother and I exchanged a look and dismissed this lady's comment. We knew that no bird, no matter how much I may despise birds, could have flew into a transformer. We decided to leave for home, and as we were leaving, we saw a cloud of smoke rising on the street with a semi-circle of people gathered around what was left of the electrified goose.

Now, before you read the next part, I don't want you to think my brother and I are some sadistic, heartless people. But the sight looked so unreal. It seriously looked like Daffy Duck after losing a fight with Bugs Bunny in the old school Looney Tunes show. Needless to say, we started laughing so hard that I am pretty sure my brother was crying and I was concerned that if I laughed too much harder that I would urinate myself.

And just when we tried to compose ourselves, leave it to Sean to ruin the composure.