This week marks the annual tradition of giving thanks for all of the people and events in your life that hold meaning. Most of us will celebrate by sitting around with a bunch of familiars, eating dinner around three in the afternoon all while reminiscing about the last time everyone came together, which most likely occurred one year earlier.
I’ve never really put much emphasis on this holiday before 2018, but this week has given me a new look at the concept of giving thanks. Right now, my grandmother is in the hospital, for what is believed to be her last days with us. She isn’t expected to reach the holiday you all are preparing for. It’s a heartbreaking concept to consider, but there is still reason for me to be thankful.
Dr. Seuss once said “don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened,” and that’s a philosophy I can subscribe to. My grandmother is a product of the 1930s. She has seen her fair share of hardships growing up, raised a bunch of kids that turned around and created kids of their own, which include me, and has performed her grandmotherly duties admirably for 40+ years.
I’m not going to write an entire biography about the incomparable Mrs. Davis, but I would like to take the time to say why I’m thankful for her. My grandmother has been a beacon for my family for as long as I’ve known her. No matter where we were in this world, her three-bedroom home on Plainfield Road was our guiding light, leading us back towards family and, more times than not, food.
One of my fondest memories with my grandmother came around 1993. I was a bed wetter. A huge bed wetter. Hell, I was a ground wetter too. If my pants weren’t wet at least once per day, I was most likely dehydrated. And I would piss up a pull-out couch like it was an Olympic event. My grandmother knew what it was when little Jae came to stay over, but she never made me feel bad for it. She’d just have my dad grab the pee-proof plastic she kept on hand and put it beneath the sheets whenever I slept over.
I have hundreds of stories surrounding my grandmother, her home, and the many adventures that took place in her backyard. But those stories are mine and not for the blog, friends. But I will say this. My brother and I probably destroyed our elementary school ankles and shins, playing power rangers, and jumping off that back porch slab. Good times. Great times.
I love you grandma. I may not have been your favorite, but I still think I’m cooler than Jabari…lol. Plus, I look like Jabari, so that’s a win in my book. (That’s my oldest brother, for you guys that don’t know me)
Stop playing with your navel. — Earnell Davis (When I was clearly playing with my belly button and trying to deny it.)