Iconic Woman
By: Brenda Mahler
Tags: Teenagers, Memories, Poetry, Grandmother, Poem

Iconic Woman

Grandmothers gift granddaughters memories

Picture taken on writer’s iPhone

Like every grandmother, I desire to share my passions with my granddaughters, leaving them a bit of me in their memories. But ever since taking home economics in middle school, I knew baking and sewing were not my strengths. In cooking class, I forgot to put water in the bottom pan of the double boiler, so the teacher used the mutilated remains of metal with a hole in the bottom as a model of what not to do.

At semester, we rotated to a different room that housed sewing machines. Relieved because there was less opportunity to set off the fire alarm and cause a schoolwide evacuation, I welcomed a chance to learn a new skill. The teacher later claimed I was the first student ever to sew the project to the clothes I wore. To this day, I have doubts about that, but she used my little mistake at the beginning of every class thereafter in her lecture of what not to do.

Over the years my cooking abilities have improved. The family enjoys dinners at Grandma’s, and I can sew on a button — when required. However, those are not activities that prompt excitement. I enjoy writing.

So, with my granddaughter sitting beside me, I suggested we write poetry, something I love and can share. Flashbacks from teaching English overwhelmed my senses when she answered with a groan. My well-mannered granddaughter who loves me to the moon and back, rolled her eyes. Oh my, at 13-years-old, she was turning into one of those creatures right in front of me.

With an attitude not of gratitude, she pointed out it is summer, and she should not be required to do homework, then whined something about poetry being mushy and boring and just not fun. It seems the distance to the moon was less than it once was with technology and all because her devoted adoration for me was fading.

Surprised, I wondered if other grandmothers met resistance when they teach the kids to knit, paint, or play the piano. However, bravely I began the lesson. Yes, I actually used the word lesson. Immediately identifying the guttural noises that filled the room, I substituted the word games for lesson. “We are going to play a word game.”

I tore a page out of a magazine. For the assignment — I mean the fun activity — we needed a paragraph or two. To not lose her attention or provide time for the beeps, dings, and chimes radiating from the phone to capture her attention, I quickly chose one of the two option on the first page I opened. Perfume or detergent advertisement? Perfume ad of course, even an aging grandmother still knows what interests a teenager.

Cautiously, we read the paragraph together and I explained that she should circle words that she likes. Her look told me she thought age had pushed me over the edge, and I began to think she might be correct as I questioned why I undertook such a task. But she did as I asked and circled. I believe the red ink pen helped. Then together we read the words a loud. Questioning she said, “That doesn’t sound like poetry.” I remember the time this child would have trusted me if I said the world was flat. How times change.

I explained a poem will grow when you write the words on paper, add or delete as need and a masterpiece would evolve before her eyes. I winced when her eyes rolled and disappeared into her forehead thinking if she kept doing that she would never be able to see her poem when completed. Skeptically, she did as I asked, probably thinking the sooner this was done the sooner she would be free to investigate the sounds emanating from her phone.

The final step was to add a title. We both held our breath suspicious that one of us was being deceived because we began to enjoy ourselves. Her eyes met mine and she smiled; I could actually see her pupils. They were not stuck to her skull!

She wrote a poem.

Iconic Woman

A Woman’s Rebellious style Over a century ago To be a mix

Of red cream

And sweet floral Which makes her

A perfect choice

She read her creation a loud to me pleased with the result. “Grams, I wrote a poem. That’s cool! Can we write another one?”

I may not be a great cook and sewing is definitely not a strong suit but if playing with words installs a love of poetry, I know my granddaughter will always have the tools to find a path to happiness.