Grandma's Wisdom

I remember my grandmother vividly. She was this tall Black-Cherokee woman with bright brown eyes that became dull and weary with each birthday, but her presence still lingers even after she took her final breath.

I’m a city girl; born and raised on the west side of Chicago, Illinois. My block was very diverse, not culturally diverse, but economically which made my block colorful. Ten months out of the year was filled with these colors of people, food and music; this made living grand. But, I could not wait until that last day of school to come because I knew that two days after, I along with my siblings and cousins would be headed to Vicksburg, Mississippi to visit my grandmother - to absorb all of her love, wisdom given over a cup of strong black coffee.

My summers in Mississippi were always full of fun, laughter, challenges and lessons. I loved the fresh air, running through the fields and climbing the Pecan trees and praying that the nuts were ready to be eaten; which they usually were. I shared not only these summer days with my family, but also with the friends that lived nearby, but my best friend was my grandmother.

My grandmother woke each morning at 4am (I currently do the same) and she would sit on the front porch in an old reclining chair that was draped with a quilt that she made years before. Everyone in the house heard her and then ignored her with the same turn of their body. I was the only one who chose to get up and keep her company. I wanted to share the quiet with her which lasted only a few minutes because she always had a story to tell while she sipped her strong black coffee. One of the most memorable stories was about how my grandfather was able to purchase our land that had the massive fields and Pecan trees from a man that tried to kill him. As I tried to visualize the story, all I could digest was the smell of the coffee,and of course I didn’t realize it back then, but this - black coffee became my vice.

My grandmother did not allow me to drink coffee. She said it was too strong for my body to digest and it’s addictive, and she warned me not to be addictive to anything or anyone. However, I was defiant about the no coffee rule. I would excuse myself from the early porch stories and go into the kitchen, get a tea cup and pour myself coffee and then, go into the bathroom to drink it. Yes, I was jittery the entire morning - no I was jittery every morning from my coffee addiction. My grandmother knew what I’ve been doing from the very moment the word “no” passed her lips, but she wanted me to learn a lesson as well as face the challenges lay ahead. My grandmother never said a word the whole summer about me stealing the coffee, even when she saw the hyperactivity and then the somberness of my days.

When summer break was over and my addiction to coffee was strong; my cousins, siblings and I headed back to Chicago and the entire train ride, I was trying to figure out how I was going to satisfy my coffee cravings. I also thought about my grandmother’s stories and how she warned me about the coffee.

It took me a while to figure out how to satisfy my craving for a cup of coffee.I remember my grandmother vividly. She was this tall Black-Cherokee woman with bright brown eyes that became dull and weary with each birthday, but her presence still lingers even after she took her final breath.

I’m a city girl; born and raised on the west side of Chicago, Illinois. My block was very diverse, not culturally diverse, but economically which made my block colorful. Ten months out of the year was filled with these colors of people, food and music; this made living grand. But, I could not wait until that last day of school to come because I knew that two days after, I along with my siblings and cousins would be headed to Vicksburg, Mississippi to visit my grandmother - to absorb all of her love, wisdom given over a cup of strong black coffee.

My summers in Mississippi were always full of fun, laughter, challenges and lessons. I loved the fresh air, running through the fields and climbing the Pecan trees and praying that the nuts were ready to be eaten; which they usually were. I shared not only these summer days with my family, but also with the friends that lived nearby, but my best friend was my grandmother.

My grandmother woke each morning at 4am (I currently do the same) and she would sit on the front porch in an old reclining chair that was draped with a quilt that she made years before. Everyone in the house heard her and then ignored her with the same turn of their body. I was the only one who chose to get up and keep her company. I wanted to share the quiet with her which lasted only a few minutes because she always had a story to tell while she sipped her strong black coffee. One of the most memorable stories was about how my grandfather was able to purchase our land that had the massive fields and Pecan trees from a man that tried to kill him. As I tried to visualize the story, all I could digest was the smell of the coffee,and of course I didn’t realize it back then, but this - black coffee became my vice.

My grandmother did not allow me to drink coffee. She said it was too strong for my body to digest and it’s addictive, and she warned me not to be addictive to anything or anyone. However, I was defiant about the no coffee rule. I would excuse myself from the early porch stories and go into the kitchen, get a tea cup and pour myself coffee and then, go into the bathroom to drink it. Yes, I was jittery the entire morning - no I was jittery every morning from my coffee addiction. My grandmother knew what I’ve been doing from the moment she told me “no” but she wanted me to learn my lesson as well as face the challenges ahead.

When summer break was over and my addiction to coffee was strong; my cousins, siblings and I headed back to Chicago and the entire train ride, I was trying to figure out how I was going to satisfy my coffee cravings. I also thought about my grandmother’s stories and how she warned me about the coffee.

It took me a while to figure out how to satisfy my craving for a cup of coffee. I suffered through withdrawal. Imagine a ten year-old with headaches because I couldn’t get a cup of coffee. It is so funny now! Eventually, I was able to satisfy my coffee cravings by sneaking it like I did at my grandmother’s, but it was challenging and it became a chore; and it was worth every sneaky moment! My parents made a fresh pot of coffee each morning before work; and they didn’t leave for work until it was almost time for me to leave for school. I had to be quick and I was! I did cause some tension on the weekends. The morning coffee was made, but my dad always wanted a second or third cup which I took. He would make a ruckus on how the coffee would just disappear (smile). I don’t think anyone thought it was me (perhaps?) Nonetheless, this cloak and dagger ritual lasted until I was old enough to stop inside a mom and pop’s convenience store on the way to school to get my strong black cup of coffee. I didn’t realize it back then, but the lesson my grandmother was trying to teach me was not about the coffee, it was about trying to keep me from becoming a sneak, a thief and a liar; all over a strong cup of black coffee. Thanks grandma, lesson learned!

Even today, I still need a cup of coffee. Every day!