7 Up and Nilla Wafers

My maternal grandmother was a hard woman.  German by descent, Mims grew up on farmland, now a suburb of Chicago.  

I have very few memories of "Mims."  Visiting "Mims and Papa's" home in Lake Forest, Chicago, I remember the house being spotless.  

Just look at them in their home!

Mims and Papa

The house looked clean.  Smelled clean.  Felt antiseptic.  Everything belonged in its place.  It felt like everything stared at you with disdain that you were even THINKING of touching it.

And how tempting is THAT?!?

"Don't touch anything" is a tough request for a curious 5-year old.

But I was a good kid.  In fact, some would say charming.

As hard as it was when I went to Mims and Papa's house, I 'colored within the lines.'

I have one poignant memory of my grandmother in that house.  My brother and I were sitting on the back steps facing the small grassy backyard.  Tall hedge on the right which provided privacy from the close sidewalk.  The backyard was meticulous.  My grandfather was a horticulturist.  And British.  Everything beautifully and tightly refined.

It was a beautiful summer day.

Mims steps out the screen door and onto the top landing of the concrete steps. 

"Here you go" as she passes me a 7-ounce bottle of 7-up and a handful of Nilla wafers.

She goes back inside.

My brother stares at the door for a few moments, waiting for her return.  When it is clear that's not happening, he looks at me enjoying my treats.  

"She meant for us to share."

Now you need to understand something here.  I am the youngest of four children.  Six years separated oldest to youngest.  The brother sitting next to me is three years older.  The difference between 5 and 8 is HUGE!

If you're the youngest, you'll get this part.  My siblings were superior to me in every way -- physically, psychologically, artistically, emotionally and intellectually.  I lost every game we played.  And we LOVED playing games.  Monopoly, Risk, Game of Life, Stratego, Card games.  It wasn't in my sibling's nature nor nurture to let the youngest win.  Don't get me wrong.  They were gracious.  They always let me play and never rubbed it in when I lost.  And my parents always drilled into us not to be sore losers.

So I played and lost.  Played and lost.  Played and lost.

Somehow I never lost the fun of playing.  I got quite skilled at strategy because I was constantly learning and figuring out at maturity levels beyond my years!

Thank you siblings!

So there I was with a bottle of 7-UP and a handful of Nilla wafers.

"She meant for us to share"

I suppose the Hollywood ending to this story is that I shared my goodies with him.

I did not.

I turned towards him and ate the Nilla wafers one by one.  I slowly sipped the 7-up until it drained.  I might have slurped a little along the way, too.

Not very generous, I know, but give me a break!  I was 5 years old!  The youngest of 4.  Accustomed to losing all the time.

Grant me this one little win, will you?

Oh yes, and I will always have this fond memory of my grandmother, Mims.  

Brings a smile to my face right now as I write.

I liked to think she knew exactly what she was doing.  She wasn't being mean to my brother.  

She was giving her grandson a treat, a special moment and a lasting memory.

Thank you, Mims.