Gran

Dorothy (Gran) on Grand Ave in Dallas

Gran was a firecracker. My dad’s mom is tricky to sum up. She was loving and caring, but not soft. A small frame containing a giant personality. She was funny. She was quick with razor-sharp sarcasm.

She was also creative. I have a piece of pottery she made in high school art class. I often saw her playing with unusual materials. Once she wrapped a balloon in a string that had been dipped in a glue-like substance. After it dried, she popped the balloon, leaving a cool string ball.

Her creativity was layered. As young grandkids, we pestered each other in the backseat of her car. On at least one occasion, she turned the radio to static and cranked it up until we stopped.

Once, a driver had been riding her bumper and tailing too close until they stopped at a red light. When the light turned green, she didn’t move as quickly as he wanted her to. He honked obnoxiously. She put her car in park and raised her hood, as if it were broken down, trapping him behind her.

I was driving home from my high school job with only two red lights left. Through the intersection, I saw a white Cadillac. There were two police cars, and another car pulled over. It looked like a minor traffic collision. An officer was talking to a tiny gray-haired woman. Not to lean too heavily on a stereotype, but I wasn’t surprised to see an older person driving a Caddy. It was surprising how much she looked like my grandmother.

My light turned green, and I went through the intersection. It was Gran! I pulled into the next parking lot and walked back. The officer looked startled. “What business do you have here?” I said, “She’s my grandmother!” She turned and said, “Richard!” as she hugged my neck. The officer seemed relieved.

She was on her way to our house when she was rear-ended at the light. The other driver and the officers were getting the full force of her energy. The hug was the calming she needed. They wrapped up the paperwork, and we headed on our way.

I can get narrowly focused on my problems. I believe there is only one way to solve them, when really there are many creative solutions to my situation. I get heads-down and forget that many people around me might be struggling too. They don’t always need a solution. Sometimes, all it takes is a familiar face—or a hug.

Am I missing a simple solution because I’ve convinced myself there’s only one way? Can I look up from my journey to see those who need my help? Can I be their familiar face—their hug?

Be curious, be kind, be whole, do good things.