My Two Grandmothers
My father’s mother was Vivian Maupin who grew up in an upper middle class, large family in De Soto , Missouri. Her father was the Superintendent of the Round House there for Missouri Pacific Railroad and he descended from French Huegenots. Her mother Anna Reed was the daughter of two English immigrants. She grew up in the Methodist-Episcopal church where her family were leaders. Even her hobbies were more English—tatting and crochet. She gave me beautiful store-bought dresses that I probably only wore to church. I was 6 years old when she died but I still remember.
I remember her twinkling brown eyes and how she would bend down to talk to me at my level, holding me warmly—always so loving and caring. After family dinners with 20 of us gathered in the dining room and hallway, the women would all go to the kitchen to wash the dishes. I loved being a part of that—my job was drying the silverware and putting it away but I cherished being a part of the laughter, sloshing water, damp cotton towels and love with my grandmother, aunts and mother. It was the perfect job for an active pre-schooler: sending me to the butler’s pantry with silverware to be polished, sorted and stored. Years later, my aunt said, there were never photos of my grandmother smiling because her teeth were bad and yet I remember her smiles and eyes with warmth and love. I am sorry my cousins and siblings never really knew her.
My mother’s mother was Vennie Watson who was a foster child in Southeast Missouri. She was an only child—her brother died as a baby. Her father was possibly a harness racer who died when she was a baby from a horse accident. Her mother was a housekeeper for another family until she was committed to the insane asylum in Farmington, MO. Vennie was fostered by members of the Methodist church they belonged to. She descended from Melungeons—a mixed race people in Tennessee and North Carolina.
Vennie was a seamstress who made most of my clothes. There were no large family dinners but we ate with my grandparents every Friday night. Grandpa was a fisherman who provided delicious fried catfish or perch every Friday with pan-fried potatoes, sliced sweet onions, and tomatoes in season. Vennie lived next door to us so I spent a lot of time with her—especially in the afternoons watching Art Linkletter on the television, playing solitaire, sorting buttons and hearing the whirr of Grandma’s sewing machine. Vennie was not well-educated having married at 14 and yet she encouraged me to learn to read at a young age. She was barely literate herself, stumbling on the words in my Golden Books. I became so frustrated hearing her read that I had her teach me to read when I was 4 years old so I could read to myself.
Their backgrounds could not have been much different and yet they both left me with wonderful, loving memories and the feeling that I was treasured as the oldest granddaughter. They both encouraged my independence—one by helping me read and the other letting me step forward and be a part of a working group. They both died in their 50’s, a loss I still feel today. I am sorry that my cousins never knew them as well as I did.
