That Christmas Day
During the 45-minute ride to Huntington, we fell into easy conversation, catching up and cracking jokes. The moment that still glows in my memory came when my Grandma, sitting in the passenger seat, realized I had a Hank Williams CD playing. To my surprise, she knew every word so I turned up the volume, and soon we were both singing at the top of our lungs “Hey Good Lookin’,” “Jambalaya,” and the rest. The car felt full of joy and warmth, our voices blending in a way that made the generations between us disappear.
When we arrived at my Mom’s house, the usual holiday chaos was already in full swing. Laughter, overlapping conversations, and the smell of food drifted through every room of the house. Eventually we all gathered in the living room to do a gift exchange.
When it was my Grandma's turn, I handed her my present and told her she had to guess what it was before opening it. She shook the box gently, listening intently, then gave it another shake. She looked up and with a mischievous sparkle in her eye, she said in front of the entire family, “Is it a vibrator?” I immediately burst out laughing, and she did too. The rest of the room, however, went quiet, heads down and visibly uncomfortable.
After I gathered myself, I assured her that wasn't the gift, and she opened it. I don't remember exactly what the present was, only that it was definitely not what she had guessed. I'll never forget that Christmas and I'll never forget how funny and ornery my grandma was to be around. She was one of a kind.
