Scottie Dogs and Cigarettes
I don't have a ton of memories of my paternal grandmother. Part of that is because she died while I was still in grade school, so I didn't have as much time with her as I did with my grandfather or even my other grandma.
Part of that is also my fault. Being an anxious introvert, family gatherings made me somewhat nervous when I was growing up. (Actually, to be perfectly honest, they still do!) Whenever I could, I would retreat to playing with my siblings or the family dogs. My aunt usually traveled with her rescue dog TJ, and when she visited my grandparents' house, TJ would sometimes stay in the basement. Heading to the basement to play with TJ was ideal for me: I got to hang out with a dog while avoiding all of the people upstairs. Of course, my disappearance also meant that I missed out on interacting with my relatives.
My grandmother noticed how much I loved dogs, though. One day, we were outside in someone else's backyard. She stood next to me and said, "I hear you want a dog. I have something for you." I allowed myself to believe for a brief moment that she was going to tell me she had convinced my parents to get a dog and that I would soon have a puppy. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pin of a Scottie dog. It was chipped in one place. The Scottie dog had a gold bow which at one point had three jewels in it, but the jewels were long gone. I am certain I did not hide my disappointment well. I was, after all, a kid who asked for a dog every single Christmas from the time I could write - maybe even earlier. Even so, I thanked my grandma and placed the pin in my own pocket. She smiled kindly at me.
My second major memory of my grandmother falls into a larger family story that is retold often. My dad's family likes to go camping. Even though camping was not a favorite activity among my siblings, he would take us along with him on family trips. During one such excursion, we were playing softball with my relatives. My dad was pitching, and my aunt was at bat. My aunt hit a line drive. My dad dodged out of the way; unfortunately, I was directly behind him, and I did not have time to avoid the ball. It hit me square in the stomach, and I tumbled to the ground, gasping for air. I have since learned that what I experienced was having the "wind knocked out of me," but at the time, all I knew what that I couldn't breathe. Someone picked me up and helped me move over next to my grandmother, who was sitting in a lawn chair on the sidelines. I heaved and heaved until air finally rushed into my lungs, and along with it came...cigarette smoke. My grandmother smoked until the day she died. As someone who is sensitive (maybe even allergic) to cigarette smoke, I did not appreciate having my first recovered breath polluted. I immediately started coughing. My grandmother laughed and made some sort of sarcastic comment.
You could have mistaken her laugh for indifference to my plight. I knew better. She gave me that pin, after all. My grandmother showed her affection in her own unique ways.
I went home from that camping trip with the imprint of a softball on my stomach. Eventually, it faded.
But I still have the Scottie dog.
Part of that is also my fault. Being an anxious introvert, family gatherings made me somewhat nervous when I was growing up. (Actually, to be perfectly honest, they still do!) Whenever I could, I would retreat to playing with my siblings or the family dogs. My aunt usually traveled with her rescue dog TJ, and when she visited my grandparents' house, TJ would sometimes stay in the basement. Heading to the basement to play with TJ was ideal for me: I got to hang out with a dog while avoiding all of the people upstairs. Of course, my disappearance also meant that I missed out on interacting with my relatives.
My grandmother noticed how much I loved dogs, though. One day, we were outside in someone else's backyard. She stood next to me and said, "I hear you want a dog. I have something for you." I allowed myself to believe for a brief moment that she was going to tell me she had convinced my parents to get a dog and that I would soon have a puppy. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pin of a Scottie dog. It was chipped in one place. The Scottie dog had a gold bow which at one point had three jewels in it, but the jewels were long gone. I am certain I did not hide my disappointment well. I was, after all, a kid who asked for a dog every single Christmas from the time I could write - maybe even earlier. Even so, I thanked my grandma and placed the pin in my own pocket. She smiled kindly at me.
My second major memory of my grandmother falls into a larger family story that is retold often. My dad's family likes to go camping. Even though camping was not a favorite activity among my siblings, he would take us along with him on family trips. During one such excursion, we were playing softball with my relatives. My dad was pitching, and my aunt was at bat. My aunt hit a line drive. My dad dodged out of the way; unfortunately, I was directly behind him, and I did not have time to avoid the ball. It hit me square in the stomach, and I tumbled to the ground, gasping for air. I have since learned that what I experienced was having the "wind knocked out of me," but at the time, all I knew what that I couldn't breathe. Someone picked me up and helped me move over next to my grandmother, who was sitting in a lawn chair on the sidelines. I heaved and heaved until air finally rushed into my lungs, and along with it came...cigarette smoke. My grandmother smoked until the day she died. As someone who is sensitive (maybe even allergic) to cigarette smoke, I did not appreciate having my first recovered breath polluted. I immediately started coughing. My grandmother laughed and made some sort of sarcastic comment.
You could have mistaken her laugh for indifference to my plight. I knew better. She gave me that pin, after all. My grandmother showed her affection in her own unique ways.
I went home from that camping trip with the imprint of a softball on my stomach. Eventually, it faded.
But I still have the Scottie dog.
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