“Who’s Patrick?”
“HE’S YOUR GRANDSON—oh, she’s winking. Your grammy is teasing us. Here she is.”
“Hello, my baby boy…”
That’s the humor of my Grammy in our last conversation together. I had called my mom a few weeks ago, and she happened to be over visiting Grammy (my dad’s mom). Grammy was having a good day, and was once again playful with her humor. When she was on, she’s was on, and it was hard not to laugh.
I’d like to say some of my humor is a direct result from my Grammy. She definitely influenced my dad’s sense of humor and impacted the humor styles of each of her grandchildren. As a kid, she’d give us a kiss goodbye as a “zerbie” (blowing air against our cheeks producing a rather inappropriate sound), following it up with either an exclamation of “Zerbies” or teasing us about who had passed gas. As adults her humor became a bit more adult and even more inappropriate. She’d tease my older brother, “Go have fun tonight honey, and if you make a mistake, name it after me.”
Or tell the waitress serving us at lunch, “Have you met my grandson? Isn’t he handsome? He’s single you know. Patrick, are you going to ask her for her phone number?”
She’d do a horrible makeover party with my cousins, and take photographs with ridiculous lipstick and eye shadow.
This past summer, just before my sister’s wedding, she asked to see Mary’s ring. Ring in hand she exclaimed with a big smile, “I stole your ring…next it’ll be your husband.”
Or when asked what she’d wear to the wedding, she’d reply, “A bikini.”
We’d always receive some singing/dancing/snoring and always hilarious Christmas character each December, and could count on her to be one of the first to put olives on her fingers at the dinner table.
She always ate like a teenager. A few years ago, I was nearby for a speaking engagement and took her to lunch (where she pressured me to flirt with our waitress), and later to the store. She picked up more junk food than I did on any shopping trip during my college days, but somehow lived incredibly long.
She wanted to be at the kids table, and we liked sitting near her.
And this was the nature of Grammy. She would laugh at a whoopie cushion, but also take time and care to underline the important parts of any birthday or Christmas card and use a smily face stamp. Many would remark that she actually looked like the old lady on the popular Hallmark Shoebox series, and while she was often hilarious, she also carried that sentiment on the Hallmark cards as well.
From an early age, my Grammy always told me how proud she was of me. Our family visits weren’t always so frequent–especially when we lived in southern California, but when made it to her place, her neighbors often remarked how much she talked about her grandchildren. Her refrigerator was a little museum in itself, childhood photos and drawings I long forgotten, displayed proudly held up by a magnet with a hilarious phrase.
It wasn’t until I was an adult until I realized how incredible my Grammy’s humor truly was. She had a difficult childhood, living in an orphanage at one point. Her first husband died in World War II, allowing her the chance to meet & marry my Papa. Together they had two children, my aunt Cris and my dad. I’ve heard my dad and aunt share the many hilarious moments from camping trips and their childhood. Although Grammy and Papa divorced later in life, Grammy kept the humor alive and well. It was as if she endured some struggle in her life so that I could experience joy as her grandkid.
The last few years were rough. Her mind succumbed a bit to age, and sometimes her best loving self wasn’t always at the forefront. I was a lucky one, never seeing her in anything but her loving (and hilarious) best.
This past summer, I got to walk her down the aisle for my sister’s wedding. She looked at me, “look how handsome you are.”
“Thank you, Grammy.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me how beautiful I am? I got my hair did.”
On Friday, my Grammy left this world. My family is experiencing a mix of emotions, happy that she is in a better place and no longer experiencing any pain, sad that we won’t again hear her crack a joke in person, and yet still laughing through tears as we share stories of all the funny memories along the way.
“…so you have a girlfriend?”
“Yes, Grammy.”
“She’s pretty.”
“Yes, Grammy, she is.”
“Not as beautiful as me, but that’s okay.”
(laughter)
“You know I love you, Patrick.”
“I love you too, Grammy.”
“Zerbies.”
(laughter)
“I’m so proud of you.”
‘Thanks Grammy. I love you.”
I really do love my crazy and funny, Grammy. I’m who I am today, in part, because she was in my life, providing smiles, laughter, and a lot of love along the way.
Rest in peace, Grammy, and go rock some Zerbies in Heaven.
In loving memory of Grammy Maurer (1921-2011)