Beginner's Heart

Beginner's Heart


in praise of grandparents

granddad letter to homophobic daughterI LVE this letter from a grandfather to his gay-hating daughter. The idea that there is shame attached to gender makes me crazy. I can’t imagine disowning a child for anything, and something as fixed as gender identification?? If it ever came to not speaking to one of my sons — which seems impossible — it would be far more likely to be in a case of overt cruelty, like this mother.

Once, many years ago, race occupied a similarly fraught place in American culture. (Some of us would contend it still does, if a bit differently.) For a young white female to date a black boy was heresy — not to be condoned. Even in an international community, old prejudices lived and breathed.

But when my father had me formally deported as a result of my declared intention to marry my African-American boyfriend (deportation being necessary to prevent me returning, as I was 18), my grandmother — a Texan born & bred, from a time when that normally meant racial ‘attitudes’ — took me in and loved me.

She said nothing to reprimand me, and although my father had said I could never see my sisters or my mother again, my grandmother assured me that things would change. She held my shattered heart in her arthritic blue-veined hands and helped it heal. Such is the power of grandparent love. Emma

This letter reminds me that grandparents are necessary. No one questions that parents are critical. But as children grow and decide their own life choices, there is need for love that does not question. Love that accepts a child as s/he is, not as prejudices and hate might desire. I miss my old ladies: the grandmother who rocked a big 18-year-old girl in her lap and soothed her tears, the great-aunt who never asked a single question about my precipitous, unaccompanied return — just cooked me cobblers & creamed corn.

When I think of the best kinds of love, I think of grandparents. I remember what it is to be accepted w/out question. Just held and loved and loved some more. And I wish I was capable of it more often.



Previous Posts

the other side
You will notice, if you look at the picture, a dearth of men. There are the outlaws, w/ the exception of grandchildren, and a cousin. That's it. Mine is a family of women, mostly. We talk about 'the aunts' -- my mother and her three sisters -- and 'the sisters' -- my three sisters & me. My grand

posted 6:41:49pm Dec. 18, 2014 | read full post »

it doesn't have to be perfect (the enemy of good)
  Last night's dinner was brought to you by some obscure soup company. Canned clam chowder, w/ the addition of cracked pepper & white corn. YUM! Served w/ water crackers, & a side of tabbouleh

posted 12:59:47pm Dec. 17, 2014 | read full post »

of waiting, and childhood impatience
As I wrap presents, write out menus, email to find out who's bringing what to the holiday feast, I can't help but think of my mother. She was NOT organised, nor was she an organiser. Tell her what to do, and she did

posted 9:35:25pm Dec. 15, 2014 | read full post »

love (and happiness) like ribbon
Love is, I think, like ribbon. It's beautiful, for one thing (I adore pretty ribbon!). But it tangles, gets easily wrinkled and needs care to last. At the holidays, when I'm going through SKEINS of it, I find myse

posted 10:21:22pm Dec. 13, 2014 | read full post »

the curse of the holiday meltdown
All the ornaments are on the tree. The newest riff on the family tabbouleh is chilling, waiting for us to taste-test it after the flavours meld. The three packages needing mailing -- well, the ones that have arriv

posted 6:43:01pm Dec. 11, 2014 | read full post »




Report as Inappropriate

You are reporting this content because it violates the Terms of Service.

All reported content is logged for investigation.