Grandma Burn

My high school reestablished a speech and drama group when I was a sophomore. Members of this group participated in speech meets around the area and a theatrical production held in the spring. I usually participated in poetry competitions at speech meets. I didn’t write my own, though I could have if I desired. Instead, I memorized a poem and performed it. One time, I recited a combination of Richard Cory and A Dream Deferred. I loved the two sounds and stories the poems told together. In my senior year, I performed The Congo by Vachel Lindsay at the Osage Speech Tournament in 1999. I had seen this piece presented before and I loved the rhythm of the poem. It allowed for soft tones and loud, powerful booms. I placed second in poetry at that tournament with The Congo. I was excited because I was the first and only person to trophy at any speech meet in high school.

My mom and stepfather were in St. Louis that weekend, so I knew no one would be home to share my joy. I stopped at my grandma’s on the way home. Her house was at one end of the hollow and mine was at the other. I had to drive right past her house to go home. I knew she would be home and I could share my triumph.

I burst through her front door (no one knocked at grandma’s), trophy in hand, and exclaimed, “Grandma! I won second in poetry at the speech meet!”

Without skipping a beat or batting an eye, she asked, “What, were you the only one competing?”

In my excitement, I received a Grandma Burn from my 80-year-old grandmother.

I told her I was going home where people would be excited for me, knowing full well the only beings at home were our outdoor cats.

I can still vividly see her sitting at her desk in the family room, wearing pink sweats and reading glasses, working on her checkbook when she delivered that deflating line. I am not sure I closed the door when I burst in with the news. I know I didn’t stay for long after that welcome.