Remembering my grandmother.

She didn’t fight in a war, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. My grandmother wanted so much to serve her country on the warfront. In the end, her bird-like frame (which, unlike her hair-trigger temper and penchant for red hair dye, I did not inherit) couldn’t pass muster against the Army’s minimum weight rules for people being sent overseas.

That didn’t stop her from being a lifelong patriot, however. My Grammie loved her country. She loved the flag and the Constitution and believed in the inerrability of America’s mission, back in the day when that wasn’t so challenging. She was no shrinking violet, and made more than a few phone calls to radio stations during the Vietnam War that left little doubt as to where she stood on draft dodgers. But my grandmother walked her walk and talked her talk, and even people who disagreed with her politics tended to respect that.

I remember joining her during the run-up to the 1980 presidential election, at the Reagan campaign headquarters. I was just a kid, still in elementary school, but she made sure I knew that it was my duty and a privilege to help choose America’s leaders. Even though my political compass didn’t point in the same direction as hers, then or now, she lit the spark, and made me think about what I believed in, and why.

My strongest memory of her, besides her comical fashion sense (leopard-print housecoats with torn nylons and long johns underneath) is that she never missed a chance to tell me how important it was to go to college. Throughout her life, she saw her dreams deferred, from a possible career as a concert pianist so she could nurse her dying parents to downgrading her plan to be a cardiologist because nursing school was all that was in reach. She didn’t want any such limits for her grandchildren.

She lived long enough to see me graduate from college, and I don’t think there was anyone in that chilly auditorium as proud as she was that day. While she’d probably be mad as heck that I moved all the way across the country, I’d like to think that she’d also be proud of what I’ve done with my college degree. When I think of her, I remember those words of encouragement, given so many times throughout my childhood:

“You go to college, Emily. Once you have your degree, no one can ever take that from you,” she’d tell me, and hug me close in a mothball-scented embrace. She may not have been a war hero, but she was certainly a hero to me, and in very real way, I owe her my life.