One time I asked her what she’d do if I got in a car with a drunk driver, and she said, "Jeannie, I’d tan your hide and tell your mother to ground you for a year and a half." Then she stopped smiling and told me that probably the difference was that I wouldn’t have the influence on my friend to stop him drinking, and she did, because she had him wrapped around her little finger. And she laughed again, a pretty tinkly song.

I didn’t think Grandma ever tried to be younger than she really was, but she was always interested in what my brothers and I did. One afternoon my best friend Carrie and I were playing records when she walked in. A david Bowie song, "Let’s Dance," was on and there was a line in it that went on about dancing under "serious moonlight." So Gram, in her pink and green flowered dress, grabbed me and laughed, "Let’s dance!" and she whirled me around the room. We all got to laughing – Gram, Carrie and I – as it turned out, about different things. My friend laughed about how silly I looked trying to keep up with Gram’s old-fashioned polka. I laughed about Gram’s skirt twirling around her thighs and hips. Gram just laughed. Then we stopped dancing and she sat on the couch, sort of puffing, and said in the gravest tone of voice, "Jeannie, what IS serious moonlight?"

"I don’t know. It’s just a song," I said.

"Well, it’s a lovely thought," Gram answered. "Serious moonlight, it would be that silver gray moon for planting and lovers and dreaming. Now what other kinds of moonlight would there be?" The three of us got to inventing different kinds of colors of moons. Pretty soon she left to help Mom with sewing curtains. I told Carrie I was a little embarrassed about Gram dancing around like that, and she was amazed. She told me how lucky I was to have a Gram who was pretty and helped you see things on the inside, and knows how you feel, and can laugh with you without laughing at you. Carrie was right, of course. Gram was all those things, especially seeing on the inside. She and I had a special love. Once she whispered to me that I was her very favorite person in the world. I thought she probably said that to all of us, but deep down, I felt it was true. When I was little I lived with Gram for two years, and when I moved home, I still spent lots of days and weeks with her. She always made sure I had the right dress for a party or recital. She took my boy problems seriously like no one else, even Mom, ever did. When I was scared about school or miserable about some dumb boy, I ran to her. She wouldn't laugh then. She said that problems when you’re little are all the worse because you are little and can’t do a lot about them. But then she’d give me the confidence to get through them and tell me that was always how to deal with problems, with confidence and faith in yourself.

She listened to others, too, like Mom. When Mom and Dad weren’t getting along the first person Mom would call was Gram, and in twenty minutes, there she’d be, listening and nodding and holding Mom.

One day it was different. When Grandpa died three years ago, she went through the arrangements and the funeral and everybody being at the house. She didn’t cry. She stood and sat straight and looked straight ahead with dry blue eyes. She smiled and said, "I’m fine. Don’t worry." But late that night she came to my room to see if I was all right. I was sort of sniffling and she held me and suddenly she started crying and I held her. For two hours we talked about her and Grandpa and how empty she felt and how she felt lost. Then she told me, "This is between you and me, Jeannie. I’m not as strong as I pretend to be, but I will not show the world my grief. Show the world your happiness, not your sadness. Tonight I have you and I needed you." Then she turned out my light and kissed me. I loved her even morel then because at last I was able to give her something more than a leather wallet or a bottle of perfume.

When she wasn’t listening, she was laughing. I guess everybody loved that in her. Her phone was always ringing and she was always going shopping or having lunch with friends. My Gram had sparkling blue eyes and pale shimmery hair. Everything about her shined. People say I have her eyes. I look in the mirror sometimes hoping to see her, but she’s not there. She wasn’t in control as much as she said she was and one night they were in a car accident and she died. I was mad at her because I thought she had lied to me about being in control, but now I think she believed it. I’m still glad I didn’t cry at the funeral, although I did in my room later.

Once my puppy died and I said I’d never get another one, but I did and I love him. I can’t get another Gram, though. There was only one. Not enough.

- Written by a California 8^th grade student for CLAS writing sample -