Tables and Grandparents: Part III

Here we are: part three of my ongoing blogs about wisdom and gratitudes related to my grandparents. Today is all about Peggy. She's not a grandparent, but she's the best great-aunt south of the Mason-Dixon line, and she is a big part of my life and shaped a lot of my childhood, especially. 

I’ve always been an introvert. I dwell in people-oriented work and spaces, and building and sustaining relationships is a central part of who I am. But my energy is drawn from being alone, where I can integrate and process conversations and emotions. Part of my introversion, I think, is also connected to a certain shyness or bashfulness about sharing parts of myself that are goofy, dramatic, or expressive.

Not so with my great-aunt Peggy. Nestled in the piney woods of East Texas in the house built by her father in the 1920s, Peggy is strongly associated in my mind with a sense of home, comfort, and a deep rootedness. Also, like any of us, Peggy also experiences strong emotions from time to time. I’m grateful that she, like many members of my family and even in moments where it’s difficult to sort through our dynamics, exemplified what it means to be a multi-faceted and complex human. I’m grateful that the women in my family in particular were and are given, for the most part, uninterrupted permission to express a full range of our feelings and desires. But I digress!

In my family, Peggy is known for her elephant memory (she can recall family stories from decades ago with vivid detail), her wordsmithing ways (she wrote a column for the Lufkin Daily News for decades, plus she can solve any word puzzle and beat anyone at Scattergories), and her love of pets, among many things. Perhaps my favorite quality of hers, however, is her acceptance and unconditional love.

In one of my earlier posts in this little series about my grandparents and great-aunt, I mentioned how Peggy would often spend weeks during the summer at her sister’s house in Dallas, located directly across from my parents’ house. I spent many a summer afternoon playing with her, usually accompanied by my cousin Savannah. As I mentioned above, I’m often hesitant to share the parts of myself that are more goofy or expressive unless it feels assuredly safe to do so. Peggy always made me feel safe: to sing with gusto any hymn or pop song I was fond of at the moment, to put on a wide range of music on my grandmother’s radio or CD player and perform a “dance concert” for her, and to serve her experiments with pretend recipes from my “café,” made fresh with East Texas sand. She and I agreed when I was maybe seven or eight (she could tell you the exact age) that she’s my best friend. I don’t see her as often as I’d like, but she’ll always be my best buddy.

So, if you’re reading this, Pegs: Thank you for all your years of love. Thank you for leaving room and grace for others to share who they are-- who they really are. You are a treasure. The memories of porch sitting and playing together formed so much of who I am.

-->

-E