Mildred

A few posts back, I talked about my maternal grandmother's obsession with health and vitamins, and I promised to write more about her soon.

It's soon.

I'm not entirely sure where to start, and my preface to this post is that what you are about to read is true to the best of my knowledge and belief.  Mildred's story is my own blended concoction of fact and muddy memory.

Other than the fact that she was born in the Appalachian foothills in 1916, I don't really know much about her childhood.  I do know that she had sisters and brothers with whom she was reasonably close throughout her lifetime and that they grew up mostly poor.  I do know that her daddy was a mean S.O.B. but he died before I was born.  I did have the inestimable good fortune to know my great-grandmother Ruby, who died when I was about ten.  Ruby was addicted to Garrett's snuff and would frequently spit in various receptacles ("spitcans") around the house as well as right into the sink.  Ew.

Mildred left the hills and went to business school  in her late teens and in short order became secretary to a local attorney.  That attorney went on to become a prominent state senator and community advocate, and Mildred remained his loyal assistant until he died in office in 1965.

She briefly married a laborer from Georgia who fathered my mother in 1940 and then they apparently went their separate ways.  I don't know squat about any of that.  I'm sure it's more interesting than I know (short marriages usually have some kind of juicy story), but anyway, I don't know what it was.  I do know that he worked in Roosevelt's Civilian Conservation Corps at some point before they got married.  That is the sum of what I know about my maternal grandfather.

So anyway, after the state senator died, Mildred went to work as a secretary for another attorney who eventually became our U.S. congressman and held that office from 1965 until his death in 1988.  (While I'm generally an advocate for term limits, he was an excellent leader and plus he was good to my family.) Mildred worked for him continuously and then, when his son was elected to fill his vacant seat, Mildred went to work for the son as well.  My sweet nutty grandmother worked until she was gently encouraged to retire in 1998 - at age 82.

Why on earth am I telling you so much about her career?  BECAUSE IT WAS AWESOME!  My grandmother loved her work more than most people love breathing.  She taught me the importance of loving what I do to earn a living and how it means all the difference between contentment and frustration.  She taught me that it is a good thing to care about the people you work with and develop friendships with them that surpass nine-to-five.

Mildred wasn't your average secretary, mind you.  Yes, she was an "executive assistant" who typed and copied and took shorthand and scheduled appointments for her boss, but she was so much more than that. 

You might be surprised to know that East Tennessee is a prime destination for immigrants from around the world, particularly for refugees and those in need of political asylum.  A big part of Mildred's job was to assist these folks with immigrant visas and citizenship applications.  True to her nature, she took these folks under her wing and established long and deep friendships with many.  They brought her gifts from around the world and helped tend to her in her retirement years and they just plain old loved her. 

(Remind me to tell you about Thanksgiving at Mildred's some time.  That will have to be a post unto itself.)

Before you get the idea that it was all sunshine and roses with Mildred and me, let's set the record straight.  She drove me completely crazy.  Not just with the vitamins (see the earlier post), but with her badgering about adolescent hygiene and annoying penchant for calling me "Lee-Laura".  She gave my little sister an even more irritating nickname, which I can't repeat under fear of death.  Most frustrating of all was her insistent refusal to acknowledge that my mother was severely mentally ill - not just moody and irresponsible.

My face flushes with shame even now when I think of the times that I shouted at Mildred and told her to get out of my room, leave me alone, go f... yourself.  Maybe I didn't actually say that last one, but I sure thought it sometimes.  Not only did she bug me to pieces, I was also frequently embarrassed by her - her goofy orangey-red hair and her latest Camaro.  She flirted with every male in a 20 foot radius, and she had this ridiculous way of hooting when she laughed (especially while flirting) that would make me want to smack her and say, stop with the hooting already!  Rather than money or some other fun present, she would celebrate my birthdays by giving me butt-ugly slips and extra-tan pantyhose.

So here I am, thinking and writing about her nine years after she died.  Her work ethic and her nutty love for pretty much everybody she met are things that I aspire to emulate, along with her faith and constant craving to study God's word.  She is the person who taught me it is OK to underline and actually write notes all over your Bible - apparently it's not a sin, despite what some might say.

And I'm actually missing the hooting and the vitamins.  A little bit. 

http://www.seymourherald.com/obituaries/2003/May/26/5337/