Miss Independent

My family isn't really big on mementos, storytelling or sentimentality.  Granny, my mom's mom, was the family's matriarch and she didn't tolerate silliness or play or tears or complaining. She lived the motto "Just do it" before anyone knew what Nike was. I know very little about her relationship with my grandfather and for some reason, he popped into my head this morning. My grandfather passed away long before I was born and here was only ever one picture of him in my Granny's house. I don't know why but I swear whenever I asked about him, I was told 1 story, and one story only. So when I say "he popped into my head," I mean this story popped into my head.

At some point, in their later years, there was a night when my grandfather did not return home to the St. Louis city apartment he and Granny shared. At this point in the story, everyone adds in their speculation that he'd be stepping out or that he'd had too much to drink at the local tavern or been out gambling. Either way, he didn't come home. Sometime in the morning, I know its morning because I'm told the sun was up, he's walked up the sidewalk to their old school brick 4 unit apartment building. This is important to know because Granny was waiting for him at the window in the stairwell on the landing between the first and second story which looked out over the walk-way.  As he waled up towards the front door, Granny asks him where he's been, he responds with something that no one has ever found worth remembering or repeating and as he reached for the handle of the front door, Granny reaches down to the floor in front of her and grabs her soup pot, full of the hottest water should could get, maybe even boiling, but no one confirms or denies that, and she then dumps the entire container right onto his head. To my knowledge, the never spoke again because there are no other stories. Not even of his passing or funeral. 

And that is a snapshot of the most influential woman of my childhood. The seething anger, the righteous retaliation, its in my genes (I honestly typed "jeans" first, WTF!?). Thankfully I've learned to identify and manage the anger over the years and am less of the walking rage-ball I used to be but it's a miracle I have any friends or managed to meet a man who felt dangerous enough to marry me. Just from being my life, they're all just one mis-step away from me getting out the soup pot.