Grandma says, “Pretty is as pretty does”
I have previously written about the wisdom of many of our grandparents and particularly that of our grandmothers. Often, like one of those legendary fruitcakes, their wise sayings needed to lie dormant for a long time before the words were fully cured or aged in our minds. The sage slivers of wisdom may have actually come from a blood-connected grandmother or one of those self-appointed grandmothers who took seriously their role as village grandmother. We may have also had many wise grandfathers in our lives, but, for whatever reason, it is often the legion of grandmothers who gather for a head shaking conference in my brain. They may have a sit down, head shaking, finger waving, “coming to Jesus” meeting with me at any moment, but they are most likely to appear when they observe a moment in my life which assures them that I have taken a leave of my senses. I am never quite sure whether the concern is for the actual misdeed or for the fact that I have apparently forgotten that big momma (I have this Tyler Perry Madea image permanently etched in my brain) ain’t never too old to whack some sense into this brain.
One of those cross-stitch framed grandmother wall hangings is “Pretty is as pretty does.” Grandmother Pickett was quite clear that no amount of city slick Brylcreem slicked-backed hair, shirt collar turned up, pretense of every woman’s dream man did not hide the obvious ugliness resulting from behavior which in no way was pleasin’ to God. “What were you thinking child? That I would not notice or God was hanging out on the street corner showin’ off His stuff? What?”
In grandmother’s house it was painfully clear that God was on duty 24/7 and that his faithful servant in the form of grandmother could never be accused of failing to execute her duty of reminding one that actions and not words or looks counted in this house. There was no limit to the words which were used to remind me in no uncertain terms that no behavior or lack of behavior would go unnoticed.
Whether or not the tone of my voice, the scowl on my face or the disrespect of the wearing of jeans with holes (however artfully placed) signaled my moral decline was immaterial. The fact is I knew that as soon as I experienced that knowing slap alongside my head, I had violated a basic principle of human decency and had best have an attitude adjustment which brought me down a peg or two to a level of humility which was located in the sub-basement of the house which did not have a cellar, much less a basement.
These days the grandmothers who visit me may often be much younger than I am. They are not always even women although they often are. It seems that no matter how old I get there is always a grandmother close by to remind me that, at heart, I am still in need of a reminder that my behavior at times assures everyone that “You do not have the sense that God gave the goose.”
Less there be any confusion I am not talking about the faux grandmother whose chastising reminders are meant to judge and not teach – that faux grandmother who does not have her hands and arms open just to summon the help of Jesus (or whatever deity of her understanding) to address this latest act of stupidity, but also has her arms open to embrace and bury one’s head in the ample warmth of her heart and the equally suffocating ampleness of her bosom. Grandmother reminders always come with the sure belief that we are worth more than our behavior would seem to warrant at the moment. Grandmother reminders are not the stuff of the behavior of the 2016 Presidential candidates. Apparently neither candidate had the blessing of Perry Tyler’s, Big mamma, or Maya Angelou’s authentic grandmothers. If they had, the timbre of this campaign would have been remarkably different. Perhaps we need a real grandmother – tough, loving, wise – to be president at his time in our history.
I nominate and vote for Perry Tyler’s Madea. “Bring it on Big Momma!”
Written October 24, 2016
I have previously written about the wisdom of many of our grandparents and particularly that of our grandmothers. Often, like one of those legendary fruitcakes, their wise sayings needed to lie dormant for a long time before the words were fully cured or aged in our minds. The sage slivers of wisdom may have actually come from a blood-connected grandmother or one of those self-appointed grandmothers who took seriously their role as village grandmother. We may have also had many wise grandfathers in our lives, but, for whatever reason, it is often the legion of grandmothers who gather for a head shaking conference in my brain. They may have a sit down, head shaking, finger waving, “coming to Jesus” meeting with me at any moment, but they are most likely to appear when they observe a moment in my life which assures them that I have taken a leave of my senses. I am never quite sure whether the concern is for the actual misdeed or for the fact that I have apparently forgotten that big momma (I have this Tyler Perry Madea image permanently etched in my brain) ain’t never too old to whack some sense into this brain.
One of those cross-stitch framed grandmother wall hangings is “Pretty is as pretty does.” Grandmother Pickett was quite clear that no amount of city slick Brylcreem slicked-backed hair, shirt collar turned up, pretense of every woman’s dream man did not hide the obvious ugliness resulting from behavior which in no way was pleasin’ to God. “What were you thinking child? That I would not notice or God was hanging out on the street corner showin’ off His stuff? What?”
In grandmother’s house it was painfully clear that God was on duty 24/7 and that his faithful servant in the form of grandmother could never be accused of failing to execute her duty of reminding one that actions and not words or looks counted in this house. There was no limit to the words which were used to remind me in no uncertain terms that no behavior or lack of behavior would go unnoticed.
Whether or not the tone of my voice, the scowl on my face or the disrespect of the wearing of jeans with holes (however artfully placed) signaled my moral decline was immaterial. The fact is I knew that as soon as I experienced that knowing slap alongside my head, I had violated a basic principle of human decency and had best have an attitude adjustment which brought me down a peg or two to a level of humility which was located in the sub-basement of the house which did not have a cellar, much less a basement.
These days the grandmothers who visit me may often be much younger than I am. They are not always even women although they often are. It seems that no matter how old I get there is always a grandmother close by to remind me that, at heart, I am still in need of a reminder that my behavior at times assures everyone that “You do not have the sense that God gave the goose.”
Less there be any confusion I am not talking about the faux grandmother whose chastising reminders are meant to judge and not teach – that faux grandmother who does not have her hands and arms open just to summon the help of Jesus (or whatever deity of her understanding) to address this latest act of stupidity, but also has her arms open to embrace and bury one’s head in the ample warmth of her heart and the equally suffocating ampleness of her bosom. Grandmother reminders always come with the sure belief that we are worth more than our behavior would seem to warrant at the moment. Grandmother reminders are not the stuff of the behavior of the 2016 Presidential candidates. Apparently neither candidate had the blessing of Perry Tyler’s, Big mamma, or Maya Angelou’s authentic grandmothers. If they had, the timbre of this campaign would have been remarkably different. Perhaps we need a real grandmother – tough, loving, wise – to be president at his time in our history.
I nominate and vote for Perry Tyler’s Madea. “Bring it on Big Momma!”
Written October 24, 2016
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