I Come From Dragons

My origins are fire

**Written and performed for a Stay Human Storytelling event themed, “Where I Come From.”**

When Michael told us the theme of the evening was “Where I Come From,” my immediate answer was, “My grandmothers.” My second thought was, “Dragons.” I only ever picture dragons as female — fierce, wise, mythical creatures who protect their treasures with their entire bodies and souls. Yes, that sounds like my grandmothers.

There is a poem by Margaret Walker, entitled “Lineage.” The composer Andrea Ramsey later adapted it into a choral piece I have performed with a women’s ensemble, and the text is exactly what popped into my mind when considering my origins:

My grandmothers were strong.

They followed plows and bent to toil.

They moved through fields sowing seed.

They touched earth and grain grew.

They were full of sturdiness and singing.

My grandmothers were strong.

My grandmothers are full of memories

Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay

With veins rolling roughly over quick hands

They have many clean words to say.

My grandmothers were strong.

Why am I not as they?

My Grandma Ginny did not follow a plow, and she didn’t smell like onions. But she did attend Carleton College during World War 2, when there were no men on campus. She did commit her life to community service in our small town. I always erroneously believed that our family tradition of dedication to serving our community was spearheaded by my grandfather (and his father before him) and passed on to my dad. I should have known better. My grandma spent her life creating a lasting legacy through the Red Cross, the United Way, and the Minnesota Education Foundation just to name a few, and spent 28 years on the Grand Rapids Housing and Urban Redevelopment Authority, seeing about 100 units of subsidized senior housing built over her tenure.

People who knew my Grandma Ginny describe her as one of “the grand old dames,” an elegant and gracious woman who was proud of her family and devoted to her community. But those who knew her intimately know that there was nobody tougher than my Grandma.

Believing she had married too young, my grandma encouraged my aunt to wait and to experience life, grabbing any opportunities available before settling into adult responsibilities. She pushed my introverted reader of an uncle to go to camp, and his eventual love of the woods led to a long career with the DNR. She campaigned for my dad on his path from City Council, to County Commissioner, and finally to the Minnesota State Senate.

Effusive was not a word you would ever use in relation to Grandma. “Very nice” and “very good” were her go-to comments on our accomplishments — but more telling was the fact that she never missed a play or a concert where any of us were performing. Yes, she might sound dismissive to an “I love you” in a phone call, responding with a, “Yes, yes, I love you too, bye bye,” but the look on her face when my son pushed her wheelchair through the halls of the nursing home, allowing her to introduce every resident to her great-grandchildren, spoke to the true fire in her belly. She had a fierce pride in her family, and woe to any who would speak ill of us!

Unafraid to be seen as “the bad guy,” Grandma said the things that needed to be said. She was the one who would call contractors on mistakes, not my Grandpa. She initiated a separation with my Grandpa until he went into recovery for his alcoholism, even insisting he stay at a hotel afterwards until she was sure she was ready to have him come home. Grandma could have a sharp tongue, and she was free with any and all opinions. I remember her picking me up for lunch during college and glancing sideways at my outfit of overalls and sneakers. “Your aunt had a pair of those when she was young,” she commented, “I didn’t like them then, either.”

Grandma Ginny managed aging with class, as she did everything. After my grandfather died, she dated several men — my beautiful grandmother did not have trouble finding a partner! She thought growing old was for the birds, however. One Thanksgiving soon after I graduated from college, she asked me what I was doing on the phone after dinner. I said I was trying to find out which of my high school friends were in town so that we could meet for a drink. Grandma replied, “Oh, all my friends are dead.”

Sometime in the last year before she died, Grandma confessed to me that getting old “is just kind of boring.” All the things that give life meaning — friends, work, service — are gone, and you feel sort of useless. She left us the way she did everything: with dignity, on her terms. My dad had stopped by with cookies for a chat. After he left, she waved goodnight to the nurse and went to sleep. That was it — straightforward, no drama, get the job done.

My Grandma Merry, on the other hand, literally called herself The Dragon Lady. She adored all of the dragons: particularly the serpentine Chinese dragon, the stately Welsh dragon, and the enormous, winged, post-classical dragons of Europe. An avid reader, traveler, and art history scholar, Grandma was a deep well of knowledge in a multitude of subjects — and she loved to teach.

Grandma received proposals from three different men in the year she married my grandfather. The first one she turned down, and the second one she accepted. As the legend goes, my grandma spotted my grandpa up on his porch reading as she was walking by one day. He was a friend of her father’s and 8 years her senior, so she had not previously been on his radar. She called to him, “I’m leaving to student teach in a week, so if you’re ever going to take me out it should be now!” He asked her what nights she had free, and she responded, “All of them!” “I’ll take them all,” said Grandpa. They had about 7 dates when Grandpa got his draft notice asking him to report for duty. Grandma said, “Oh… you don’t think you’d like my cooking?” They were married shortly thereafter, with Grandma in a purple velvet dress and Grandpa with his bowling shirt under his suit jacket, as it was the only white one he had clean. They were together — and madly in love — for over 60 years. My poor Great-Grandma Burnap wrote the Dear John letter to the 2nd guy.

My grandma received a teaching degree after high school, studying at the famed Miss Wood's School (later an affiliate of Macalester College, my alma mater). At 50, she informed my grandfather that she was going back to school to study art history, and enrolled at Metro State University. Grandma served as a docent at the St. Paul Museum of Art for many years after that, only leaving that position when Grandpa retired and they began spending half their time at their cabin up north… near us.

Grandma Merry saw no need to contain her teaching to a classroom, she did it everywhere. She was long retired from her docent position when she brought my friend Elly and me to see a traveling Monet exhibit at the Minneapolis Institute of Art during my college years. The MIA has an impressive collection of Chinese art — a particular love of my granmother’s — so after Monet, she took us through the Chinese exhibits and… got us in trouble. She was explaining to us that the large Buddha statue had a hole in the back of its head for dedicatory materials, and became frustrated that the statue wasn’t displayed in a way that showed that area. Finally, she ducked under the velvet rope surrounding the artwork and pulled us along. The poor young man who had to tell The Dragon Lady she wasn’t allowed back there probably still remembers the look he received.

The unfortunate police officer who pulled Grandma over for speeding probably has a similar memory. Grandma Merry prided herself on having never gotten a speeding ticket. She always advised me that tears were appropriate in that situation. She was late on this particular day, however, and simply greeted the officer at her window with, “Well, I’m late for Putters!” She ended up quite late it turned out, because she had to explain to the cop that Putters is her ladies’ putting group at the Minikahda Club and then… wait for him to fill out her first ever ticket.

My — much younger — cousin Marin remembers being a pawn for my Grandma while Dan and I were dating, approaching me to whisper-ask when we were going to get married. She also remembers Grandma making her call the restaurant at Sugar Lake Lodge to ask — in her little girl voice — if they had key lime pie that day. Grandma loved key lime pie.

I loved my grandfathers. They were kind and smart and funny and made a huge impact on who I am today. But as I grow older, as I come into what I am thinking of as my true self, it is my grandmothers who are whispering in my ear. Be brave, Susie, they say. Don’t settle, Susie. Wear more rust, wear more purple. Laugh with your mouth wide open. Fight for those who can’t. You are a dragon.

Thank you for reading.

Love, Susie

Dan, Grandma Ginny, Grandma Merry, and Yours Truly