Nana Part 2 of 2
Nana’s family had a home in Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey that she would visit in the summer. One uncle, Rudy I think, would get everyone outside early each morning for exercises. It impressed Nana because she talked about summers in “the Highlands” often. My Mom even remembers going down there. One day in the mid-1980’s my Mom, her brother, my Uncle Joe (Simon) and Nana took a ride down to Atlantic Highlands to search for the ancestral summer home. After driving around aimlessly we discovered the home had burned down “years ogo” (bummer).
The term “no social filtering skills” was coined to describe my Grandmother. When my wife and I were newly married both my Mom and Nana would constantly ask, “When are you two going to give us a baby?” Nana in her high-pitched voice could be particularly annoying. One Holiday, I leaned into her after she asked the baby question and said, “Nana, J and I can’t have children, my penis is too big.” Without batting an eyelash, she waved her hand dismissively and said, “Oh posh, all girls love a big penis.” I had no retort. At another family party my cousin’s wife had gained a few pounds and came under Nana’s scrutiny; “My, you gained weight”, Nana said in greeting and everyone in the room tried to be invisible. Not to let things rest there, Nana added, “You gained A LOT of weight!” I closed my eyes and tried desperately to recall my last root canal. Everyone always cut Nana some slack. I don’t know why.
When I started traveling for my job, I would always send a postcard to Nana from whatever city I was. When my son was born, I added him and would send 2 postcards from wherever I was. I liked to send my son the postcard that had a map of the state. They are hard to come by these days. At Christmas, I’d always include a big bottle of Jean Nate (Na-Tay) body lotion in Nana’s gifts, just to hear her yell, “Oh, look it’s Jean Nate” (you had to be there!!).
My father was not a big talker. My Mom always felt that was the reason Nana thought Dad hated her (don’t try to analyze that – just accept it). This happened more than once: Nana was alone in the kitchen “cleaning up” everyone else was in the living room watching a ballgame (it was my father’s TV). Suddenly two sounds were heard in rapid succession. First a glass shattering, then a high-pitched voice shouting “I didn’t do it!” We’d all exchange looks, my Mom would get up and go into the kitchen, my father would shake his head and take a drag of his Marlboro.
Nana got the last shot at my Dad. The day she died, that evening, while watching a basketball game Dad got a nosebleed that just wouldn’t stop. He wound up at the local emergency room getting his nose packed. No reason was ever given, But I know. It’s obvious that Nana gave my Dad a good punch in the nose on her way to Heaven. I don’t doubt it for an instant. A few weeks after Nana died my Mom presented me with a shoebox that contained a 3inch rubber-banded pile of my postcards. Nana had kept everyone and had room for many more. I wonder what happened to her sock monkey? I should have asked my Mom.
kongoboken 