Columnist
“I’m a hundred, you know. One hundred years old.” In recent years my grandmother has become fond of greeting visitors with those words. In reality, though, she’s not there yet. She turned 97 this week.
She has always been a forward thinker, however, and these days reaching the century mark is not so out of the ordinary. And she would be the first to tell you that she comes from good stock. Her own grandmother, who lived through what might be delicately described as far more challenging times for a black woman, died at 96.
The typical black grandmother is depicted in popular culture as a generously proportioned, warmhearted font of wisdom sure to have something simmering on her stove, always ready to serve up a platitude and a platter of hot delights.
Consider Irma P. Hall, an actress who has mastered the role of the dignified matriarch, playing it to perfection in Soul Food and other films, or Gloria Foster, who portrayed the cookie-baking Oracle in the first two Matrix films. Our fondness for such characters can also inspire rich parody, expertly demonstrated by Tyler Perry.
No one would mistake my grandmother for a buxom kitchen goddess. And she’d have little tolerance for Perry’s over-the-top antics. In my most vivid memories of her, she is always pulling up to my parent’s house in her gleaming Cadillac and emerging tastefully appointed with head held high.
She had known years of toil and privation, but they were behind her by my time. Her brisk stride and straight back, the way she paused and waited for gentlemen to snap to attention and open doors for her, made clear her belief that first-class treatment was not only demanded but expected.
Polished and articulate, she insisted on crisp speech: An “uh-huh” from a grandchild was certain to provoke a lecture. She might ask if you wanted a warm wedge of her peach cobbler, but if you failed to answer with a prompt “Yes, please,” that cobbler would never reach your plate.
The tales she spun ranged from fantastic to fiery. When a gust of wind tore our screen door from its hinges, she talked about living through a terrible tornado. As the twister raged, she claimed, she looked out a window and saw a human head rolling down the street.
She’s buried a husband, three children, all her siblings. As her loved ones and memories succumb to relentless fate, a 100th birthday has become something to live for.
According to the U.S. Administration on Aging, there were 50,639 persons age 100 or more in 2003, the last year for which figures are available. Anyone fortunate enough to count himself among my grandmother’s many descendants would quickly assure you that she could never be a mere one in 50,000. She’ll always be one in a million n whether she reaches 100 or not.
A former reporter for the American, Jabari Asim is a columnist for the Washington Post. His e-mail address is asimj@washpost.com.
* Carol’s Journal will return next week.