Hollie Kliebert
English 1001
Irvin Peckham
Firsthand Portrait
Going to Grandma’s
I will never forget the words my dad told me when I was only nine years old. I
was old enough to understand death, but I do not think I was old enough to accept it. He
sat me down and cradled my small hand gently in his.
"Grandma died, Hollie." At that time, I was crying, confused and scared to see
my strong, masculine dad burst into tears; it was something that I had not seen before. I
was uncomfortably stunned and I was not sure of what to say.
"It's gonna be okay, dad," I said.
"No it's not,” he sobbed.
By this time, I was really upset and feeling very awkward. I loved my grandma
and did not understand why she had to die. All I knew was that I wanted her to come
back because I was missing her already.
For a woman in her 80’s, my grandma was an extremely tall, strong woman. She
was bowlegged and somewhat skinny except for her pudgy, round stomach. She had a
complexion that was soft and white as ivory. She had short, brown hair that was well
groomed and a pair of dark glasses that rested on her nose. Her skin was wrinkled as if
she had been in water for some time.
I remember her walking unsteadily. She had knee surgery so her strides were not
exactly smooth. Despite her weak, old legs, she moved quickly and never let it interrupt
her daily routines. She had a rough and tough way about her. I will never forget the time
she washed my brother’s puppy. She put him in the garage sink and scrubbed him with a
big brush and Clorox. Can you imagine how painful it must have been for that innocent
puppy?
Despite her roughness, I was able to see the kindness and gentleness in her. She
may have hidden it, but I was always able to get it out of her. I remember her rocking me
in her arms even though my legs would hang over the arms of the rocker. Age never
mattered to her.
"Go green!" exclaimed grandma as we started off through the green light. That is
what I heard every Sunday on the way home from church in her 1970 green Plymouth
Fury 3. She was a very religious woman, and for that, she was very inspiring. She
attended church every morning after working in her beautiful, colorful garden. We
sometimes would even watch the rosary on television together.
"'Ollie," shouted Grandma.
"Yes, Grandma."
"Would you like to learn how to sew a button? "
"Yea, Grandma, just like you!" I said.
My grandma taught me how to sew my first button. She was a seamstress and
made all of her clothes and most of mine. She loved what she did. As a long-time
widow, she was forced to learn how to make a living on her own. For this very reason,
she was quite frugally independent. She was also strong willed and people would often
call her stubborn. Some of my family members did not like her because she was very
honest. I guess it was because the truth can hurt sometimes.
I can still remember the smell of her house. It was a “grandma smell.” It was a
musky and sweet scent. I still have a box full of jewelry that smells just like her. My
favorite thing about going to grandma’s house was the food she cooked. She was a great
cook and loved to cook whatever I liked. If she did not have something cooked for me,
she always had something in the freezer that she would heat up.
I look up to my grandma for many reasons. I would love to be strong willed just
as she was. She always meant the world to me. Sometimes it just takes death to realize
how special someone is to you. I regret not spending more time with her. I was too
young and stupid to know that you lose the most special things in your life. I know now
that you have to live your life day by day, and you never know what is going to happen
tomorrow. I just wish she could have been around when I was older so I could have
appreciated her more. I could have told her how much I loved her. My one reassurance
is that I know that one day I will meet up with her again.
Self-evaluation
I had a good time writing this essay. It brought back memories of my grandma
and I. It seemed easy at first when preparing but began to get difficult as I went on. For
a short time, I was thinking that I had written about the wrong person. After working on
it, I realized that she was indeed the right person. The thinking part was easy because I
have great memories about my grandma but at the same time, it was difficult because she
died when I was about 8 or 9 years old. Once I started writing, everything just started
going good. The description was not hard at all to do. I would say the hardest part was
getting it to flow and fitting in the dialogue.
I am satisfied about my description of my grandma. I think it really helps the
readers visualize her. I am still wondering about my essay because I do not know how
you would rate this essay. It rather makes me nervous because I really have been
working hard on this paper despite all my other work. I am also worried about my
commas and grammatical errors. My favorite part of my essay would have to be the
ending paragraph. It means the most to me because it is something that I said from my
heart.
If I had to change anything in this paper, I think it would be my stories and
dialogue. I wish I could have maybe added a few stories but it was very difficult to
remember.
Characterization. The visual picture helps us to see your grandmother. We also learn
that she’s very religious (which religion might say something about her)—but I’m not
sure that we see that religion in her every-day life. I like the “go green” statement. There
was your grandmother speaking. We have, however, a hard time seeing your
grandmother as a living, walking person. She’s almost like an abstraction in your mind, a
place where love and memories reside. It’s the one physical description that makes us
see (and the go green) that makes us hear. Good detail of the grandma smell; that helped.
Specific Incidents or Recurring Activities. This is of course where you had the tough
time. You tried to get the place where she taught you how to sew buttons, but you
couldn’t quite get back there in your mind. The ability to catch the specific incidents is
hard to capture. But even now, I can remember very specific scenes that happened thirty
years ago. You do better of course with your recurring activities. (you were very lucky to
have this kind of relationship with your grandmother, and I suspect it has a lot to do with
who you are).
Coherence. This is a coherent picture of your grandmother—although with the caveat
that your grandmother is still veiled in a kind of mist that the years have cast over her.
Everything you tell us, though, is of one character. I liked the picture of your being
rocked by her, even though your legs stretched over the chair arms. –that was an
example of a very good choice of details. Better to say that than to say, even though I
was nine.
Significance. It’s of course the love that comes through, and the reflection, as you note,
of the last paragraph. I think you could sharpen that last paragraph. Maybe bring it down
to three lines, which would make it more hard-hitting. But you are quite right in your
self—evaluation: that’s where you want to the punch to be. You come close.
Style and Conventions. No problem with either. You have an easy, readable style,
perhaps because you were so much in touch with your subject. Your writing flowed.
There were a couple of places where you should have provided transitions between
paragraphs and also sentences. You were also in control of conventions—I pointed out a
few errors. They are easily fixed.
Self-evaluation. I think your choice on the one hand got in your way of doing as strong
of a firsthand portrait as you are capable of; on the other hand, this seemed to be the right
choice for you at this time, a chance for you to go back and recapture the essence of your
grandmother (which you did), and also a chance for you to think about her and about
what she meant to you. You could have written a better essay (mostly because of the
problems with specific incidents, which you know)—on the other hand, you learned
something about writing that I want all people to know: that it is a way of bringing back
to life memories you don’t want to die. I hope I can remember to say something like this
to the other students in the class.