I remember

My grandmother died from cancer two years ago. We called her Nanny, this title given to her by the eldest of the grandchildren. I have many fond recollections of her as I grew. I wanted to relate a particularly interesting story that I can recall as if it happened yesterday.

I was around 10 years old at the time and happened to be at my aunt’s house. My mother is one of 4 children and they are all very close. Close not only in relationship, but in living proximity as well. My mother’s siblings all lived within a 3 mile radius of my Nanny (until my Dad took Momma and us kids away to New Jersey); the closest was my aunt Judy who lived directly across the street from Nanny and Poppa. My aunt Judy had two children, a boy and a girl. The girl is three years my senior and the boy only one. My cousin, Vince and I were very close growing up; blood brothers in fact as we had at one time completed the (in our minds) sacred indian ritual of cutting our hands and then pressing them together. We did nearly everything together before I moved north, into Yankee territory, at the end of my fifth grade school year. But after the move we still spent our entire summer breaks together when Mom brought us back down after school cut us loose. I have quite a few interesting tales about our misspent youth, but I will save them for another time. I know, I know, this is supposed to be about my Nanny, but I thought that I would give you a quick synopsis of the main players in this particular moment in history, and this is my story.

Ten years old and playing in my aunt’s front yard with my cousin, Vince. We were doing all the normal things that ten and eleven year old boys do: climbing trees, digging holes, mooning passing cars, and turning over rocks looking for critters to put in his sister’s underwear drawer, nothing special - the basics.

We had worked our way around the front yard, effortlessly jumping from one boyish task to another. That all changed when I picked the game we both loved to play. With an excellent ten year old's copy of an old kung fu film, I called to him as I stood from my rock and pointed in his direction. “Your Kung Fu skills are very good… But I am a Chin brother, and my Kung Fu skills are…” beating on my chest with a closed fist, “top notch!” With a scream of mock rage he charged and I did the same, thus starting a full on, lip-synch out of synch, kung-fu war.

That we crossed multiple martial styles, cultural boundaries, and imaginary weaponry in our live action movie mattered not – we were ten and eleven remember? Rocks became shuriken, dirt a special blinding powder (incidentally, quite effective when it found its mark); mops and brooms on the carport transformed into spear and staff; sticks from the plethora of oak trees in his yard became mighty swords. We were screaming banshees as we fought from the front to the backyard and back to the front. We climbed fences and rolled into the neighbor’s property, only to jump back up and climb back over into aunties. When not shrieking, we were acting out various parts of all the Kung Fu Theater movies we had soaked up over the last few years. Things were going great until cuzz did the unthinkable; great until he threw down the gauntlet; he killed my Master. He didn’t just kill him, but he did it in my imaginary school, in front my imaginary clan.

Now if you have seen nearly any chopstick flick, you know that when an adversary kills his opponent’s master, “It is on!” With a renewed fury we tore at each other, and ended back up in the front yard. For the grand finale, we both squared off and sat down to meditate (read a breather for two winded kids that just happened to fit into their plot line).

What’s this, a plot twist? The front door to my aunt’s home opened inward and I saw my Nanny standing there with her back to the screen door as she continued to converse with those inside. Here was my chance. Know it or not, she had just become my enemy’s Master. I grinned and stood slowly, “Your Master will die. My kung fu is strong.” My nemesis answered, “Her power is too great…prepare to die.” I picked up my sword and took a stalking, circular, out-of-the-way approach toward the screen door. In my mind I was a ninja now and my prey was in sight. About five or so steps from my quarry, all hell broke loose.

Farewells said, my Nanny turned and pushed on the, always slightly ajar, screen door. As she crossed the threshold something fell from the top of the screen door. It fell across her head and shoulders and she did what we all would do with such an occurrence; she reached up to brush or pull whatever it was off of her. At this point, I figure it moved and she quickly turned her head and found herself looking into the eye of a three foot snake. My grandmother let out a screech that would do any specter proud and began beating herself about the neck and chest. She spun around madly, flailing and wailing at the reptile. I had about two seconds to laugh because as she spun around to face the front yard her brain threw the “flight” switch because apparently “fight” was not working with the desired expediency. This old lady went into a dead sprint. I had never before, nor would I ever again, see her move that fast. She bore down on me in a flash, her eyes wide in panic and it was all I could do to dive out of her way to prevent being trampled. She ran right past me and out into the street still screaming and throwing her arms around her head and neck as if possessed. I think she stopped, after about a hundred yards or so, in the middle of the street with my aunt Judy on her heels to help, check on, or save her. My cousin and I ,full of concerned laughter, did what caring boys do and ran to look for the snake.

A quick scan told us that the snake probably vacated the premises as fast as my Nanny did. As I turned back to call out my assurances that the snake was gone, I spotted a ball of fur hanging from a low lying branch and I knew instantly what it was; that nasty old oak tree had seen fit to snatch my grandmother's wig right off of her head as she sped beneath it.

I don’t know if it is youth or that I was just that devious, but I recovered my "Chin brother" character quickly and bent down to retrieve my sword. “Your Master has left her secret power behind and I will make her weak,” I yelled as I ran the few steps to where the wig (talisman of power) dangled precariously from an oak branch. With one small jump and one mighty swing of my sword-stick, I brought the wig to the ground and commenced to whipping its ass. No more would it hold power for my cousin's Teacher. Knowing that he was obviously defeated, cuzz ran up beside me and brought his sword to bear and aided me in vanquishing the Wig of Evil. Our entire chi reserves had been spent on this momentous conflict, so we were oblivious to, and no match for, the powerful head smacks and ear grabs that pulled us away.

Having both mastered the coupled look of complete innocence and utter confusion, we cried out in unison, “What…What did I do?”. When that didn’t work, plan B – point at each other while indignantly yelling “He started it!”

I think it was the hilarity of my dear old grandmother's actions, and the situation in general, that saved us both from the sound whipping we probably deserved. The mangled wig even won a reprieve from the trash and became a centerpiece for a story told many times.

It is memories like these that I remember most vividly when I think of my Nanny. I hope she can run without tiring and walk without fear of serpents doing aerial insertions, wherever she may be. Maybe she doesn't even need a wig.

Talk to ya soon.