For My Grandmother

Ode to Minnie Marguerite Yoon
An Essay
August 26, 2012

    We had a small family re-Yoon-ion.  It was a summer afternoon/evening of Korean barbecue meats, picked vegetables, stories, love and laughter.  On the drive home, I began to cry.  I missed my grandmother, “Minnie” Marguerite Yoon Ching.  She would have loved the event, especially the food.   

    There’s a sense of pride in being Korean American; 2nd generation of the first wave.  The Underdog.  My Grandmother’s coffee mug says, “Love me, I’m Korean”.    It’s all in the family.  Migrant worker; farmer; pastor; pastor’s wife and children.  Starvation, death, suicide; alcoholism, nationalism, faith, Christianity and pride.  Vocalized umbridge, demand for justice, history, honor, anger.   Inspiring shock and fear, amazement and incomprehension from others; being courageous, honest, and forthright.  The power of it resonated with me when I saw the Korean farmer protest the WTO by stabbing himself in the heart.   

    I wondered about my Grandmother: her complexity, her mental illness and the unknown.  Folks are always saying,  “Minnie didn’t get much love”.  As the youngest of 10 children, there just was not much left to go around.  It is not said disparagingly, just as a matter of fact.   

    When I think of the last time I saw her, all I can see in my mind’s eye are the tail lights of her white rental car, as it disappeared around the corner of Manila and Clifton.  I was home alone.  She hand come crashing in, speed talking about hospital insurance and an injustice born -how she was not going to take it and someone was gonna pay for it.  I weathered it -as one usually does.  A voice in the back on my mind was saying, “Grandma’s just speeded up; on a high again.  She’ll come back down eventually.  Let her ride it out.”  It turned out that this time around, when she came back down, she would die.  Her children had just arranged for her to stay in a nursing home.  She passed away the first night, in her sleep. 

    I grapple with and struggle to make sense of what my Grandmother means to me.  Of course, being my Grandma, she is my favorite Yoon.  I realize that I am a Yoon.  My mother’s family are Yoons, just as much as they are Chings, because my Grandma has such a strong, stalwart character.  She had a clear sense of right and wrong, as defined by God, big “G”. 

    Early on, she admonished me never to take the Lord’s name in vain.  When I was of Kindergarten age, she dropped me off at Sunday school and forced me to get up in front of everyone to sing “This Little Light of Mine”.   I was mortified.  I had never heard this song before.  Moreover, I was wearing my Sunday worst: a basic T-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees.  Yet she grinned at me with pride, as I bumbled my way through.
              
    I used to imagine that she was a typical 1950s housewife, who baked with bisquick.  In reality, there was nothing typical about Minnie Marguerite.   I remember the days when she took her meds, her lithium.  The wan smile that crept across her face.  I also remember the yelling matches she and my mom would have on the phone, when she was not taking them. 

    I reflect on remnants I have of my Grandma: memories and keepsakes.  They are the thick, hard-covered Children’s bible my Grandmother let me and my brother “borrow”; the size 13 black dress with a white, upside-down, heart-shaped collar; and the Bettie Boop stain glass window ornament.  The last two, she left at our back door in the middle of the night.  At the time I wondered, “What is my Grandma thinking?  Does she even know me?  I’m a size 6.”  Now I know what my Grandma was feeling: “I love my granddaughter and she must have these things -now.” 

    Silver short hair and smile that rose up through her crescent moon eyes.  Wet kisses and big bear, mama hugs.  Tazmanian Devil t-shirt and base ball cap.  Pants, with the spandex stretched waist bands worn way too high above a round pot belly.  Avid fan of baseball and Billy Graham.  Glamour shot photos with pearls, soft lighting and feather boas.

    Oh, the holiday dinners she would prepare.  The pre dinner buffets of canned black olives, miniature pickles, iceberg lettuce, cucumber and tomato salads with French, Ranch or Italian dressing.  Yummy turkeys, hams and rump roasts, complimented with gravy, mashed potatoes, kimchee and sticky rice.  Homemade pies: apple pie with golden strips of crust laid across the top, buttered, larded and baked to perfection and pumpkin pie just melting your mouth with hints of cinnamon and ginger.  “It’s a Wonderful Life”.  Bags of potatoes chips -Sour Cream and Chives, Barbecue and Original- kept fresh with a rubber band wrapped around them (if they lasted that long).    Later, I remember how much she loved the holiday dinners that my mom hosted.  Grandma Minnie would eat to her belly’s content and take a hearty nap afterward.  I can still hear her snoring in the side room as the rest of the family gathered around the television to watch a movie.   

    As your great grand baby grows in my belly, Grandma Minnie Marguerite Yoon Ching, I pay homage and respect to you.  Love. Love. Love.  With all your warts, I love you.  I wish you had met boyfriend (my husband to be) before you passed away in 1998.  Sometimes I look at the silver sunlight breaking through the clouds and I can feel you smiling down upon me.  You are in Heaven -at peace.  No more running, searching, fighting for justice.  The kids are okay.  They are doing fine.  You did good.  The best you could, with what you had.  You loved us and we love you.  Thanks, Grandma.