I saw a picture of my grandmother at a San Francisco Giants game last week, baseball cap and all. She’s more reserved than my maternal grandmother, but when it comes to the Giants, she puts the rest of us fans to shame.
I remember sitting with her and my dad in the living room and she just yells at the TV. “Strike ‘em out,” she’ll scream at the top of her lungs in a Filipino accent. The only time I ever hear her that loud is when she sings in her church choir, or when she yelled at us as kids.
My dad said happiness was having his 92-year-old mother be louder than him when watching our beloved Giants play. Happiness is just seeing her happy.
She’d probably kill me if she heard me imitating her, but the saying “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” definitely applies; it’s all done in love.
I just like how she can hold our family together. She’s the one person who makes everyone else less selfish because we know she’d do anything for us.
I like how she used to yell at my cousins and I for singing at the dinner table, but all those memories contribute to a really fun childhood. She kept us in line with a yard stick and threats of forced naps, and coddled us when we were sick. Per her grandparenting, I think we turned out fine.
Christina Calloway writes for Clovis Media Inc. Her gorgeous grandmother turns 92 Saturday.