Terry Bezelj, OWP 1998

 

I loved the feel of the smooth, cool, brown bark on my bare legs. The fragrance of the sweet blossoms were almost intoxicating to me, even at the young age of eight. I enjoyed being so high above the ground. I felt like a bird perched on my own branch. The foliage was dense and provided a luxurious screen so that I could not be seen from the house, yet she knew I was up in the old giant orange tree in her Southern California backyard. "Terry, come down out of that tree right now! How many times have I told you not to climb up there?"

I climbed down from the tree where my grandmother was waiting for me at the base of the trunk. I knew that she was upset with me because I was again engaging in

"Tomboy" activities. My grandmother was from the "old country" and she did not believe that girls should be climbing in trees and very much disapproved.

With her gentle way of suggesting a more appropriate activity for me, she carried out sheets from the house and proceeded to construct a wonderful "tent" by draping them over her clothesline. Once she had the tent ready, it was time to provide me with something I could do inside my new fortress. My grandmother had brought out a collection of well worn, ivory-colored, muslin rags and proceeded to twist and knot them together to fashion what would become my most beloved doll. There was a big ball for a head, a long slender, rectangular shaped body, and long arms and legs--each body section was carefully knotted at the proper spot to denote distinct body parts. My grandmother painted a face with round eyes, a curved nose and an upturned mouth with her black fountain pen. I named my new doll Katy. This was short for Katherine--a nick name that my grandfather often called my grandmother.

We decided that Katy needed some clothing, so we went into my grandmother's bedroom and found some old blouses which we proceeded to cut up into small pieces of fabric to make my doll her own blouse and skirt. My legs were just long enough to be able to reach the treadle of my grandmother's Singer sewing machine. She carefully guided me through each step, and Katy just looked beautiful in her new clothes when we were finished. Katy was bald, however, and Grandmother and I decided for the finishing touch, we needed to make a scarf to cover her head.

Katy and I played for hours in the backyard tent. She was a friend when I was not able to play with any neighborhood children. I could tell Katy my deepest thoughts and secrets and she would seem to understand, even though she couldn't speak. I took her everywhere with me; we went to the grocery store together, we went on bike rides, we visited my friends' homes, and of course, she slept every night with me.

Katy is only one fond memory that I have from my early childhood with my grandmother. My mom worked, so I spent many days in my grandmother's loving care. It is amazing to me today how hard she worked; taking care of her own two boys who still lived at home, helping my grandfather with his business, working in her garden (which provided most of the produce for her dinners), and caring for her home. Even with her busy schedule it seemed that my grandmother always had time for me. She always had time to make me something special to eat, play a game of checkers or a fast game of "War" with cards. She skillfully included me in helping with her daily chores. She would let me pick the carrots for dinner from her garden while she was doing the weeding. She would ask me to help make the salad dressing, while she was preparing the rest of the meal. I always felt so important when I could use the carpet sweeper to help clean the house. I would fold clean clothes, while she was doing the ironing. Grandmother always made me feel so special, and the tasks I helped with allowed me to spend a great deal of time with her. When I slept overnight at her house, she would often crawl into bed and we would talk and talk until I fell asleep.

My grandmother is 96 years old now, but when I am with her I can still feel the unconditional and incredible love she has for me. I can see the love in her gray blue eyes and I can still hear it in her voice. I continue to feel as special and important as I did when I was a child.

I have wondered what Grandmother thought of me when I went outside to play "Kick the Can" with my male cousins after dinner in the street in front of her home (the same day she had made Katy for me). I think she must have thought that I was up to my boyish activities again and was unhappy with my behavior. However, I know whatever I did as a child, never changed that wonderful love she felt and still does feel for me.