Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Parent (11/16/06)
TITLE: When Your Grandma Was A Little Girl
By Edy T Johnson
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One time a bad storm came to our town, the kind that makes me so scared I think the house will fall down. Mama carried the baby and we all went down in the basement and sat on boxes. Mama told my sister and me to sing, “Jesus loves me,” and I tried, even though I was crying I was so scared. When I get big, I‘ll be a Mama, and I don’t think I can be so brave for my kids without my own Mama there. But, I’m not scared of
anything when Grandma and Grandpa are at our house, cause there’s nobody bigger than them in the whole wide world. They’re right next to God.
When Grandma comes to visit, I don’t want to go to bed. No use crying about it. Mama says crying “just shows how tired you are.” BUT, in the morning, when the whole house is still sleeping, nobody’s around to tell me I can’t see Grandma. I go stand by her bed, watching for her to open her eyes. When she sees me, she’s so happy. She throws back the covers and tells me to crawl in bed beside her. Then she says, “Oh, your little feet are so cold. Put them here so I can warm them up for you.” She has nice fat legs, and oh, does that feel good, just like putting my feet in a bathtub full of warm oatmeal. I sure wish Grandma could live with us all the time. I like to hear her stories. If she forgets to tell one, I remind her. I think I like the one best, where she was four years old, too, and she ran into a hornet’s nest. Her big brother saved her when she fell in the river trying to get away from all the bites.
Once I heard somebody say people won’t be old anymore when we get to Heaven. That made me sad. How will I know my Grandma, if she isn’t old? But, maybe Grandma will be four, like me. Then I can SEE her when she’s a little girl and we can play together and be friends. That would be fun. We can hold hands and run through the leaves and pick flowers to bring home to our Mamas.
But, I’ll really miss my real Grandma, so much.
I know! Maybe I can ask God to turn her back into my Grandma, sometimes. Then I can still crawl up on her lap. She’ll put her arms around me like big pillows. And I’ll snuggle my head on her soft chest, where her locket watch is ticking in my ear. And, she’ll whisper to me, again, “Would you like to hear a story, about when your Grandma was a little girl?”
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