My mother asked her to teach me to read and spell. But she somehow knew better. Instead she gave me what I needed, homestyle therapy.
First, she was four blocks away. She never once came to get me. I walked to her house, daily, only when I wanted to, and I wanted to daily. I was being independent and seeking what I needed to get better. I was never once aware of the process, all I knew was I wanted to go. I can't even say I made a conscious decision to go. I was driven, it was fun, it was the best of life for me. My brother a year older did not want to go. I was not being spoilt.
Second, I had a hard time understanding speech. Grandma talked to me constantly. She told me all the stories of the world she grew up in, a world very different than mine. These were in a story form. I did not have to respond unless I wanted to. My imagination and her talking kept me engaged with pleasure. And I was learning about human nature. I was learning to listen for meaning and I would not forget meaning, only the words and even a lot of the stories. I probably recall very little, I understood a lot.
Third, we played Chinese Checkers incessantly, I was lousy, I could not track, but Grandma loved the game and I learned to love it to as we laughed and joked. Over the years, yes years, I learned to beat her. We played hide the thimble and I learned to search out things, to see the layout of the house and focus in on small things, nooks and crannies. I was learning to see and observe.
Fourth, I wanted to, let me repeat, wanted to do her chores. My grandma was 66 when I was born, so now she was 73 and was always frail. My therapy lasted ten more years with her. I did everything but cook and wash dishes. I still am a lousy cook, and do not like the dishes. I did everything else including changing the wall paper and staining the floors. It was a privilege. I was like an apprentice, or a young monk learning with the master, and wanting to do the chores. I became more and more independent, going to the neighborhood store alone and ran by two other little old ladies who nurtured me, and getting the groceries, none of my friends were so privileged. I lived in a doll house, me and Grandma, my Grand Ma I called her. We even had picnics in the yard. That is big to a kid. Her love will always be with me encouraging me to try, try it all.
A Miracle Happened, next blog.
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