Granny

Growing up in the South is hard to explain. It’s a little different from growing up anywhere else -- especially for a girl.

Prim and proper in patent leather Mary Jane’s with frilly socks and a smock dress. According to some, that is how a young girl living in the South should always be. That is my childhood. I grew up on the outskirts of Charleston with parents who could not have cared less about fitting with the social norms of a southern life. They were borderline hippies unconcerned with my wardrobe or my social etiquette. Luckily for me, my grandmother lived next door.

Barbara, or “Barbie” as we affectionately called her, was born and raised in the South. She was an active member of the church, and even had a building there named for her family. She was your stereotypical southern matriarch, the head of the Vaughn family to say the least. She was a master in the kitchen where butter was a staple. Her cornbread, cheese grits, fried pork chops, and monkey bread were all to die for.  It didn’t get much better than having her for a next door neighbor.

Since the day I was born Granny was there -- right there -- to make sure I had everything I needed, and by everything I needed I mean everything she thought I needed. Of course I did not need a different dress to wear to Sunday school each week, but that is what Granny thought was right. That is was what I had. I could always count on her for anything I needed. She was the best thing that could have happened to my childhood.

I guess you could say she raised me right, and morphed me into a vision of a perfect little lady. She taught me so many things that are still with me today. I learned to keep my presence, to sit like a lady, to cross my legs at my ankles, and to fold my hands in my lap. My only regret is not picking up any of those cooking skills.

She was my best friend. We did everything together. I was her mini-me, and she was my idol. Granny passed away when I was in the eighth grade, and I was crushed. It took a whole week off school, and it took me months to get back to normal. She did nothing less than make me into the southern lady I am today. I will never forget the legend that was my grandmother, and when I go back to her home church I consider it a privilege when the old ladies refer to me as “Little Barbara.”