Happy Birthday Grandmother
Every summer I would go visit my grandparents (Betty and William Corbin) in Union City, Indiana. Usually my Aunt Kathy would take me for the weekend. I loved driving the hour and a half with Kath. She was great at making time seem nonexistent by making up driving games the entire trip. Then there was the little stop we made in Gas City (or FarmsVille, or Bohunk, I don’t remember the name) for Watermelon Slushies. Watermelon Slushies are quite possibly the greatest drink on the whole damn planet. By the time we pulled up to North Howard Street in Union City, it was nighttime. I only had a couple of hours of watching my Grandfather twiddle away at some piece of wood in his workshop. To this day, the smell of fresh cigarette smoke and wood chips will take me back in an instant. (After the 80's Grandfather was no longer permitted to smoke in the house, since that time the workshop became his little hiding place.)
Every morning, I would be woken up by the sounds of a distant train and the smell of cinnamon toast that filled the entire house. As much as I loved waking to those two elements, I dreaded stepping out of my bed and placing my feet on the ice-cold tile in my grandparents’ 2nd bedroom. Even during the summers it was a shock to my young system.
I would finally make my way down to the kitchen to see my grandmother’s beautiful and heartwarming smile. After a big hug, I would sit down for my feast. Even at 7 years young, I could put back an entire loaf of my grandmother’s cinnamon toast. After being properly filled to the brim with sugar, carbs, and gallons of butter came the time that I most cherish with my grandmother. Grandmother would pour each of us a coffee (yes, mine was 1 part coffee to 63 parts milk, but it didn’t matter, I was drinking coffee baby), and we would walk out to their wonderful concrete porch that sat a good 10 feet over Howard Street on a hill.
We would just sit there taking in the morning air. Sometimes we would watch the locals make their way up-town for laundry, food, or other necessities. And other times we would just talk. Talk about anything, it didn’t matter. Grandmother had, and to this day still has, the most amazing ability to make you feel that you are the only person on the planet that she wants to talk to. She used to tell me stories of Pete Rose, and the little things my dad used to do when he was a boy. We would sit out there for what seemed like hours, and I cherished each and every single moment of them.
Grandmother Corbin, the woman who I was named after (Betty Brandon sans husband William Corbin), turned 84 today. And I consider myself, my wife, and especially my children extremely lucky to have Grandmother in our lives. She has been there for each of the blackest periods of my life, and she never judged, only supported. She has also been there for my happiest times. And for that I am forever grateful she is my grandmother.
I am not sure if she will ever see this little note, but I think it was important for me to express my sincere admiration and love for this incredible woman. Happy Birthday Grandmother, I love you.