When Grandmas Brag

When Grandmas Brag

By Elisa Morgan

Birthdays can resurrect memories and this recent one was no different for me. Enjoying a quiet morning alone, I took some time to reminisce.

I recalled my seventh celebration when my big day fell on Jesus’ big day: Easter. Back in the early sixties it was common for baby animals to be gifted as presents and I received a magenta-died baby chick. Pretty sure that little one didn’t last long.

There was my sweet sixteen surprise party where I danced about in a large sombrero and kaftan. No clue how those two articles were paired in the celebration.

And my COVID-interrupted 65^th where a planned in-person luncheon morphed into a zoom call populated by beloved faces.

This year’s birthday morning took me back to a little red booklet full of poems that my grandmother had created. She must have been almost ninety as one of the entries referenced her first stroke before another moved her to full-time care. We called her “Munna” but her given name was Opal, like the jewel. Fittingly, she’d christened the little booklet, “Opal’s Brag Book,” and filled it with poems about each of her children and grandchildren.

It was a struggle to locate the little treasure as so many things have been tucked in unfamiliar spots in our smaller home of just a few years. But I found it and settled down to soak in her words. She began with acknowledging the help she received in compiling the book from a few friends and my mother. Then an introduction:

“This is my own personal Brag Book,

So pull up a chair and have a look!

I know it’s gauche to brag on one’s own

-but I do!

It’s okay to brag on one’s grandchildren

-and I do that too!

So take your own personal cue –

Just remember, this is my point of view!”

Is there a safer, more enduring, undeniable love than that of a grandparent? I marinated in her no matter what love.

Next came the first poem, “The Family.”

“A family is like a necklace of jewels rare –

It grows in beauty with constant care.

Our facets and sparkle come from inside,

Like an uncut diamond, where its beauties reside.”

I smiled, remembering Munna’s ever-present twinkle-eyed glee in our presence.

I turned the pages taking in a poem about her daughter (my mother), her son, my sister and then me before she went on to my brother and cousins. I read each entry in the short book and then returned to the one entitled, “Elisa,” rereading it carefully. (Afterall, it was my birthday.)

“Our Elisa has the name of a Russian Princess;

Her parents didn’t know this at the time of her birth.

Our Elisa is a Princess,

And there’s no way to measure her worth.

When she was seventeen, in her church

She was an Elder.

She decided to become a Christian Counselor

And her zeal has held her.

She has a radio show called “Considerations”

Which goes out to over 200 stations.

She makes speeches to church groups

And her presence is felt as if she were the troops.

She has also just published a book –

Another avenue of influence she took.

It’s said that the middle child

Sometimes gets pushed around.

Not Elisa! She stands firmly on her ground!

She has two wonderful children

And a husband to match.

I don’t know how she has time

Her breath to catch!”

It might seem a bit self-idolizing to publish these words here. And maybe it is. But I was, and still am, struck by how well my grandmother knew the things that interested me. How I invested my time. What mattered to me. And that she would actually “brag” about them in her little poem.

I felt seen. I felt known. I felt loved.

No doubt her words had the same effect on her daughter, son, my sister and brother and my cousins. A grandmother’s “brag” is her legacy. An offering of security and safety expressed in lavishly unconditional love.

As I grandparent my own grandboys, I know this love. From 6 months up to 22 years, I treasure each one, studying their likes and dislikes, copycatting their slang and digging into their friends and the details of their days. My love is effortless and eternal. It bubbles up and refuses to be reduced no matter the mess, the unavoidable absences or the shift of developmental interests. They are mine and I am theirs. We belong to each other. My voice will sing of their individuality on this planet. I will delight in them. No – make that I will BRAG my love out loud!

My Munna is long gone now, her twinkle snuffed out in my days. But her legacy of “brag” remains forever imprinted on my heart. And as I celebrated my birthday, it was just the gift I needed.

Elisa Morgan is the author of Fruitful Living. She is the cohost of the podcast, God Hears Her. She is also the cohost of Discover the Word and contributor to Our Daily Bread. Her other books include Christmas Changes Everything, You are Not Alone, When We Pray Like Jesus, Hello, Beauty Full, and The Beauty of Broken. Connect with Elisa @elisamorganauthor on Facebook and Instagram.