Processing
Good afternoon,
For those of you who don’t know, or for those of you for whom it’s been a while, I’m Savannah, the elder of “The Girls” as we’re called down here. I’m also known as “Bana” or “Bana Bana”, because that’s what Grandma called me when I became too old for “Butt Butt,” which is what she originally called me when Mama and I first moved back to South Carolina when I was three and she used to get me ready while Mama got ready for work.
Grandma had a way with words and could definitely turn a phrase, tell a story, spin some yarn-literally and figuratively. And in addition to that literal yarn, she wielded a crochet needle like a sword and sewed like it was going out of style. Karma and I would look too fly when we were growing up wearing the outfits she made for us.
And it seems that “flyness” went beyond our fashion, although we couldn’t always see it or appreciate it. At least I couldn’t. I spent a lot of my formative years praying that I didn’t disappoint her. When you’re a woman who’s raised a Lt. Col. in the Army, an attorney who started her own practice, and a doctor and a lawyer who is the same person, those are mighty large shoes to fill. And I often resented that bar being so high-I’m only 5’2”, after all. I couldn’t “be like everyone else” in my class. It became very lonely and isolating at times, especially when the only people I saw on a consistent basis was a little sister who was, well, “little” and a grandmother and uncle who “just couldn’t understand”, to reference an old Fresh Prince song, and really didn’t care to understand, because they had plans and I better stick with the program.
One of the best days in my life was when I graduated high school, and not because I’d achieved such a milestone. I was finally getting out of this state! I was going to be on my own! I could do what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted and nobody could tell me nothin’! And yet I made, if not weekly, bi-monthly or monthly calls home to check in. And my roommates would always know I’m calling home because my voice would get real country and Southern: “Hey, Grandma. It’s Savannah. I’m fiiine...”
I’ll never forget my first bout of homesickness during freshman year-the cafeteria called itself doing a Southern food night, and I was so excited. I piled my plate with “fried” chicken, candied yams, cornbread, and collard greens. Those greens were so rubbery and tasteless I burst into tears right in Annenberg and immediately called my grandmother sobbing. And she said “Well, when you come down for Thanksgiving, I’ll make sure Aunt Tina makes you a heap of collard greens.”
Grandma was always there for me. She crocheted a blanket for me when I was up there in frigid Boston. She always promised to send money even though it was tight for her. She sold my books in my stead. She always told me “if it don’t look right, sound right, taste right, feel right, smell right, act right, it ain’t right!” and “Common sense is not a common thing to have.” Her words helped me keep focused and sane. Her influence is all over me-when I sing, when I speak, when I write. She was never far from me or my spirit, even if I didn’t realize it. During the last week of her life especially, blessing atop blessing came my way; I knew she, Mama, Uncle Pete, Grandma Katie, and God were moving for me and my sister. And one comment in particular has stuck with me, by a college friend who’d never met my grandmother but wanted to express her condolences. She said to me: “I’m sorry for your loss...I know she’ll live on in you-nobody is as strong and beautiful as you are if they haven’t been shaped by some powerful women.” So, though I feel grief, right now I’m full of such overwhelming love and gratitude that I just want to say thank you, Grandma. You did good. You can rest now.
For those of you who don’t know, or for those of you for whom it’s been a while, I’m Savannah, the elder of “The Girls” as we’re called down here. I’m also known as “Bana” or “Bana Bana”, because that’s what Grandma called me when I became too old for “Butt Butt,” which is what she originally called me when Mama and I first moved back to South Carolina when I was three and she used to get me ready while Mama got ready for work.
Grandma had a way with words and could definitely turn a phrase, tell a story, spin some yarn-literally and figuratively. And in addition to that literal yarn, she wielded a crochet needle like a sword and sewed like it was going out of style. Karma and I would look too fly when we were growing up wearing the outfits she made for us.
And it seems that “flyness” went beyond our fashion, although we couldn’t always see it or appreciate it. At least I couldn’t. I spent a lot of my formative years praying that I didn’t disappoint her. When you’re a woman who’s raised a Lt. Col. in the Army, an attorney who started her own practice, and a doctor and a lawyer who is the same person, those are mighty large shoes to fill. And I often resented that bar being so high-I’m only 5’2”, after all. I couldn’t “be like everyone else” in my class. It became very lonely and isolating at times, especially when the only people I saw on a consistent basis was a little sister who was, well, “little” and a grandmother and uncle who “just couldn’t understand”, to reference an old Fresh Prince song, and really didn’t care to understand, because they had plans and I better stick with the program.
One of the best days in my life was when I graduated high school, and not because I’d achieved such a milestone. I was finally getting out of this state! I was going to be on my own! I could do what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted and nobody could tell me nothin’! And yet I made, if not weekly, bi-monthly or monthly calls home to check in. And my roommates would always know I’m calling home because my voice would get real country and Southern: “Hey, Grandma. It’s Savannah. I’m fiiine...”
I’ll never forget my first bout of homesickness during freshman year-the cafeteria called itself doing a Southern food night, and I was so excited. I piled my plate with “fried” chicken, candied yams, cornbread, and collard greens. Those greens were so rubbery and tasteless I burst into tears right in Annenberg and immediately called my grandmother sobbing. And she said “Well, when you come down for Thanksgiving, I’ll make sure Aunt Tina makes you a heap of collard greens.”
Grandma was always there for me. She crocheted a blanket for me when I was up there in frigid Boston. She always promised to send money even though it was tight for her. She sold my books in my stead. She always told me “if it don’t look right, sound right, taste right, feel right, smell right, act right, it ain’t right!” and “Common sense is not a common thing to have.” Her words helped me keep focused and sane. Her influence is all over me-when I sing, when I speak, when I write. She was never far from me or my spirit, even if I didn’t realize it. During the last week of her life especially, blessing atop blessing came my way; I knew she, Mama, Uncle Pete, Grandma Katie, and God were moving for me and my sister. And one comment in particular has stuck with me, by a college friend who’d never met my grandmother but wanted to express her condolences. She said to me: “I’m sorry for your loss...I know she’ll live on in you-nobody is as strong and beautiful as you are if they haven’t been shaped by some powerful women.” So, though I feel grief, right now I’m full of such overwhelming love and gratitude that I just want to say thank you, Grandma. You did good. You can rest now.