The Fear Of Grandma Clara

My daughter experiences night terrors now and again, less frequently than the preschool years, thank goodness.  The bouts are fairly predictable, typically followed by lengthy conversations.[1]  Sometimes I just hang out with her, telling stories about various people in our lives.  The most popular by far are Grandma stories.  Whether it’s my Mother, Grandmother or Great Grandmother, she soaks up every word and asks for more.  Now that she’s a bit older, I think it’s time to tell her a surprising story about my Great Grandma Clara. 

Great Grandma Clara (AKA Grandma Clara, because our clan is just not that formal), was a force to be reckoned with; a battle ship holding the line and deflecting bullets.  I spent a large portion of my childhood at her modest home in North Dakota.  I still remember the ornate wrought iron patio set out front, painted white.[2]  Considered tall at 5’7”, Grandma Clara was a staunch German woman that people feared and respected—at least in my mind.  And Heaven Forbid if anyone messed with her apple tree!  I heard tell she once spanked a kid all the way home, then chewed out the parents!  Oh, how they hated to see her coming, too.  I think they were more scared than the kids!   

It was quite a shock to learn that when Grandma Clara was younger, she was fearful, even terrified at times.   Sadly, I have little knowledge of our family history; mostly cherished memories passed around the table after a filling holiday dinner.  Her large German family came to Ellis Island from Russia.  She married and moved to a farm in North Dakota.  A few years down the road, her husband had a heart attack, leaving Grandma behind with a gaggle of mouths to feed.  Because women were not allowed to own property, even as a widower, she and the kids were evicted from the farm.  (Isn’t that a strange?  It seems so foreign compared to the culture we live in today). 

As the story goes, Grandma Clara moved the family to the nearest town and started working in a restaurant.  No matter what the circumstance, that woman could COOK.  That’s a whole ‘nother story.[3]  Then she met a nice man, George.  They got married and the family grew.[4]     

Now, I’m not exactly clear whether or not Grandma Clara was always afraid, what she was afraid of, or why she was afraid.  But from what I understand, here’s how it ended: 

Late--very late--one night, Grandma heard the front door opening.  Grandpa was working graveyard at the railroad a block away (no one locked their doors back then) yet the door was opening and in stumbled a dark figure.  It must have been dark, because Grandma couldn’t see who was coming through the door.  But her reaction was not that of the strong woman I remember standing at the kitchen sink, deftly peeling potatoes and scrubbing fresh cucumbers from the garden for pickling.   The truth is that Grandma Clara started screaming in terror; crying and cowering into a corner.  

Now, the reason this story was passed along was not to shame my Grandmother, but to poke fun at the neighbor.  You see, the next door neighbor had a little too much to drink after work, and walked into the wrong house!  He was three sheets to the proverbial wind, inebriated, and just plain old fashioned shnockered.  Honestly, I would’ve freaked out too, if someone walked in to my house, drunk or not.  Neighbor or not! 

This is where it really gets interesting; the part I want to share with my little girl.   Grandma Clara was filled with fear.  She was also filled with determination and strong will.  It was her strong will that pushed her family through a storm of grief.  I suspect there was no small part of her that was humiliated once the neighbors started talking, too.   

This incident proved to be pivotal in her life.  From that point on, Grandma Clara stopped being afraid.  She vowed to never let her fear distract her from truth and reality.  Whatever the driving factor was, a stronger woman stood before her family and the world. 

By the time I came along, Grandma Clara was a different woman.  Hardened in some ways, but ever practical, stern and loving.  We enjoyed each others’ company and I learned many things from her over the years.  Cooking, unfortunately, was not one of the things.   Her strong-will (even when she was clearly in the wrong) has carried onto her great, great granddaughter.  This is the story my determined yet fearful daughter needs to hear.  She is just as strong, just as courageous and just as loving as my Great Grandma Clara. 

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[1] To the degree of entrapment.  Honestly that child can drag out a conversation!

[2] By me, every summer

[3] My stomach grieves the memory of her pickles.

[4] She had all boys after the first born daughter--my Grandma Genny!