Imagine an agitated rattlesnake, poised and ready to strike, and you’d know what it’s like to know my Grandma Fannie. Though small in size, she had a mountain of attitude, with a low tolerance for nonsense. Grandma chastised with a straight forwardness that came off as mean and fussy, yet behind her snappiness and rigid demeanor was a loving woman who put her family first.
Grandma’s favorite pastime was fishing. It was an enjoyment she shared with us all. Where family squabbles would create wedges, fishing would bring us together. The best fisher in the family was Grandma. While we struggled to manage one casting rod, Grandma used several. Even on days when the fish weren’t biting, they’d always snack on her bait, and she had a knack for choosing hotspots that resulted in filling her buckets with fish.
One evening we all got together and headed out to Lover’s Lane, a secluded area on the countryside popular for its fishing. Cloudless skies enriched our spirits while songbirds chirped at our arrival. Uncle Kenny went off to search for snakes, believing they hung out in good fishing spots. My brother, Ray, was tasked to keep near my mom to unhook and rebait her rod. Grandma tended to my cousin, Teeka, and I as we settled around the creek with our poles.
Fishing was a ritual that never changed for Grandma. I watched as she placed one bucket and scooped water in another, baited her hooks, and went to work. In no time, she was pitching fish in her bucket, while Teeka and I barely had nibbles. I scratched my head in wonderment. What was she putting on her bait? Soon, I grew bored with my pole and toyed with the fish gathered in the shallow water.
“Git still, boy!” Grandma snapped, “That’s why ya can’t git a bite.” Her sharp tone was enough to make me mind her, but it did nothing to resolve my boredom. Moments later, I peeped over my shoulder, before taking another step toward mischief. “Boy, git back here! Where you think you’re going?”
“Nowhere, Grandma. I’m right here.”
Amused by the activity along the bank, I barely turned around when I heard my mother’s voice warn, “Mama, don’t get so close to that water.”
Grandma was too stubborn to take advice, especially when it came to fishing. With her attention on me and her fishing equipment, Grandma failed to watch her step.
“Ma-a-a-ma!!,” my mother yelled as I jerked around to look. Grandma’s feet were off the ground, her body horizontal, as her legs pedaled in the open air, arms flailing wildly in a backstroke.
I was grinning before Grandma even touched down, thinking, ‘That’s what her mean self gets.’
Splash! Grandma landed in a spray of muddy water as I fell to the ground in laughter.
My mother yelled for help, “K-e-n-n-y! Hurry up! Mama done fell in the water!” Grandma stood up in shallow waters, her lost wig a drenched casualty.
“You better stop laughing at my mama,” my mother threatened, while I rolled around with my stomach in knots. Uncle Kenny came and helped Grandma to the bank before wading out in the water to retrieve the wig. Aside from embarrassment, Grandma turned out to be okay. Later, we all shared a laugh.
My fondest memory of my grandma Fannie was that day at Lover’s Lane. She taught me the value of a family laughing together, though it came at her expense. In August, 2010, my grandma passed away at the age of 82. Though I’ve cried many nights as I’ve struggled to find closure, I think of her and that day now, and I am still able to laugh.
©Chanton
