Nine years ago, when I began my second career as a columnist, one of my early stories was “Her Name Was Grandpa!” I authored two books and started each with the same story to introduce my Grandmother with the funny name. Grandpa is integral to the books’ chapters and my life.
The original story about my Grandpa spread across the country, and countless columns about this angel would follow. When they do, I receive many of the same questions, “Why is your grandmother called “Grandpa?” Then, I explain or send them the initial story, which I keep on my web page.
For those of you who are still asking, here is the answer:
“My brother, John, was three and watching his favorite Grandmother prepare biscuits. When the flour hit the dough board, it dusted the air. She was talking to him the entire time and laughed as the white powder settled on his dark eyelashes.
John had trouble with her name, “Grandma.” He would quickly get them confused since he was born with six grandmothers. He was blessed with two grandmothers, two great-grandmothers, and two great-great-grandmothers. They all were alive and well, living in the same small Tennessee mountain town of 2000 folks. Plus, they all preferred to be called “Grandma.” However, only one living grandfather was married to his favorite.
Suddenly, while he and his Granddaddy watched the biscuits being rolled and cut, he thought the solution would be to rename his favored Grandmother, making her extra special.
His coal-brown eyes opened wide as he tugged his Grandmother’s apron. “You gonna’ be Grandpa!” he shouted.
“John, I am Grandma, and he is your Grandaddy,” she laughed as she pointed to her smiling husband.
“Nope, you, Grandpa, and he, Grandaddy!” He emphatically stated again before stomping away.
“Is he serious, honey?” Grandaddy responded to his wife, “Of course not; he’s only three. This too shall pass.”
Our Grandmother lived for 97 years. After John, eight more grandchildren were born, and eventually, she would know and love 18 great-grandchildren, countless nieces and nephews, and the town’s kids. And we all cherished the woman we only knew as “Grandpa.”
After I had written the original story, memories and dreams flooded my mind with all I had learned from Grandpa. I began writing them down, and notes became another column, then another. Letters arrived from readers telling me, “I just love Grandpa!”
When I was young, she and I would drive into town to the “dime store.” She would head to the candy counter while I went for the paper dolls. When I found the right ones, I yelled, “Grandpa, come here!”
Folks started looking around for a man until the Grandpa woman showed up to see what I found.
The truth is, it was so funny that later, we would do it on purpose just to see the look on customers’ faces.
Grandpa is now famous. Readers and editors love ‘Grandpa’ stories. She still teaches from heaven that what we are called has nothing to do with who we are. She gave up Grandma to be Grandpa because she loved a little boy more than a title. Her pride was not in her name but in the grandchild who named her.
Her humor could transform her into a kid of any age. Her kindness could heal a broken heart, and her relationship with God could put anyone on their knees because you could see Him within her. I wanted to grow up and be like Grandpa, but I quickly realized that only one could wear such an illustrious crown.
When my granddaughter was born, I let her call me whatever she wanted my name to be. I quickly became Grandma. While my friends have all kinds of cute names they selected for the grandchildren to use, I have the one Grandpa gave up out of love. It seems pretty appropriate.
What is in a name? Does it represent fame, money, power, inheritance, or prestige? Or does it represent honor, humility, and love beyond measure?
When I think of my brother today, I see him in heaven sitting at a table with Grandpa, eating her famous biscuits that no one could emulate, and trying to explain how his sister is telling America about her.
Grandpa shakes are head and smiles, “Lordy, that child always was a talkin’!”
Yes, Grandpa, I am talking, and I will continue sharing those lessons you taught us all by the way you lived and the life you led. I keep your memory alive because you were one of those rare folks everyone needs to know. You taught us about love, sacrifice, leadership, and the true meaning of a name.
What’s in a name? Sometimes everything.
For Grandpa, Nancy Melissa Sparks Pugh — 1897-1994
