My grandmother, Miz Lena, had many successes in life. Anytime she was congratulated for a job well done, she would say, “Well, thank you. It was by the grace of God.” She could be tough and cantankerous from time to time, but she was also humble, modest and gracious.
I learned so much from her. She made her point about most everything in extremes. She weaved tales. I guess the polite way of saying it is she was comfortable telling me some whoppers. Years later, Grand Mom said she did it for my own good. She used to really have me going.
About bragging, Miz Lena said, “Honey Baby, if yore good at somethin’, keep it to yoreself. They ain’t nothin’ worse than somebody tellin’ everybody about how good they are at somethin’. Or how much money they got. Or how good-lookin’ they are.”
When she got to the good-looking thing, here came the Aunt Fran story. Fran was raised in a family that thought themselves to be a little better than the rest. Proper talk. Proper education. Proper, proper, proper. Grand Mom didn’t care much about proper.
Aunt Fran had been a county fair queen in her little hometown. Young bucks clamored for her attention. Grand Mom’s dashingly handsome youngest brother, JT, went to a dance one night and swept Fran right off her feet. JT left all of Fran’s suitors from the most respected of families in the dust.