It’s falling again. God must be thinking and itching his dandruff full head, well at least that is what my great-grandma always said. We would look out the window in her apartment that was owned and built by her son-in-law, my grandpa. She would sit in her winged back coral-colored chair as I perched my head on the end of the window sill in between the layers of antique white lace curtains that were older than me.
“Nanny I told you it would. I told you.” I would say bouncing on my legs while she watched the Game Show Network on her box television that sat on the ground. She would simply look down at my seven-year-old figure smile and say, “I think God needs some Head and Shoulders.”
It was days like these that I miss now as a 21-year-old away from my family and my now 98-year-old great-grandmother who I grew up calling Nanny. I try my best to visit her as much as I can when I am home. But I make sure to cherish the time I do get with her. She has the craziest stories about my mom, grandma, aunts and uncles that I never get tired of hearing.
She never held back even when I was probably too young to hear such stories. One incident when I was around 10, I was at her house and looking through the pile of old forgotten photo albums in the dusty corner. I, of course, picked up the prettiest one that had a pink fabric covered outside lined in delicate lace detailing. And on the front, it said, Paula. Not only was this the prettiest book, but that is my mom’s name, so I knew I was going to find some quality photos in it. I opened the pages to see my mom in a beautiful white gown. Its sleeves puffed up almost as big as her curly locks. The train of the dress was swirled around her to try and fit the entirety of it in the photo. The next photos showed pictures of family members I barely recognized. Then as I turned the page a photo of my mom standing at the altar with a man who wasn’t my dad appeared.
I was confused, to say the least, but instead of asking who he was, I continued through the book. There were countless photos of this man and my mom dancing, laughing and kissing. My 10-year-old self was almost in tears. Who was this man? Is my dad my real dad? Do I have other siblings? All these questions were flying through my mind. Then I got to a picture of my grandma dancing with this man looking like she was crying. That’s when I asked Nanny.
“Nanny what is this? This guy isn’t my dad. And why is Mimi crying.”
She nonchalantly looks at me and the photo book in my hands adjusting her glasses and said, “Oh, that’s Dave your mom’s first husband, and Mimi’s crying because she never liked him.” Then she rocked back into her Lazy Boy and continued watching TV as if my whole world wasn’t just flipped upside down.
As time passes, I will cherish these beautiful simple moments as well as the insane moments with Nanny, and whenever I look up at the sky in winter and see God’s dandruff falling from the sky I think of her and her calm casual demeanor.
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