Cleo

She had the most beautiful head of hair I’ve ever seen in my life – thick, white as snow, always “fixed”.  To go along with her gorgeous hair, her skin was flawless – not a pore in sight, perfect tone and color, even though she was no longer young.  She always had a smile and a friendly greeting when we went to her house.  “Well hello, Brenda Sue!” That’s what she would say to me, always followed by the question, “Are y’all hungry?”  Of course we were hungry, we were kids.  She always had those orange sliced candy in old, beautiful, covered candy dishes on the coffee table and end tables in her living room.  My brothers, cousins and I ate all of them.  She always had more.  I have very fond memories of spending the weekends at her house.  On Saturdays, we would go to Greenville and little by little, everyone else would show up too.  My aunts and uncles and cousins would pile into that old house on Pine Street.  It had two bedrooms downstairs and a huge bedroom upstairs with several beds in it.  My cousins, brothers and I would play outside until it got dark, then we’d come inside and watch TV or read or play games, while the grownups were gathered around the kitchen table, playing a loud, rowdy game of 42.  On Sunday morning, we would wake up to the smell of breakfast cooking downstairs – bacon, sausage, eggs, biscuits, gravy.  After we ate, the kids would go outside and play while Cleo and her husband, Jim, would sit in their chairs and watch Jimmy Swaggart on TV.

She wasn’t perfect, she had her faults, but she was always ready to help her family when they needed her.  Whether they needed a temporary place to live, help buying groceries during tough times, or a listening ear, she was there.  She also had a sharp tongue and a strong opinion.  If a thought popped into her head, it usually made its way out of her mouth – whether you wanted to hear it or not, it came.  If she thought you looked nice, she told you.  If she thought you’d gained weight, she told you.  If she thought that wearing your tennis shoes untied because it was the style made you look like a thug, she told you.  I’ll never forget the time we all gathered at her house and had to eat supper on paper plates because she had gotten angry with Jim and thrown all the dinner plates at him, breaking everyone of them.  That still makes me laugh – maybe because that mental picture is just plain funny, maybe because I would never have the nerve to do something like that no matter how I’d been hurt, and I secretly wish I did.

To me, she was the epitome of a strong, Southern woman.  She named her kids decidedly Southern names like Jimmy Don, Linda Ann, Billy Ray, Betty Fay, Mary Laverne, Barbara Jean.  She worked hard all of her life – out in the cotton fields when she was younger, out on the farm, later on she worked as a nurse’s aide, taking care of sick people.  There was nothing she couldn’t do.  She was so smart.  She was so strong. 

Often, when someone makes me angry, I threaten to “go all Cleo on them”, meaning I am fixing to tell them just how it is and what I really think.  I truly believe that Cleo was the original Madea – sometimes I swear Tyler Perry modeled the Madea character after Cleo.  I tell my family that when I turn 50, I’m going to let the Cleo in me loose so they better get ready!  Of course, I’m kidding, but only partly.  The truth is I could do worse than to try to be more like Cleo.  This was a woman who loved her family, all of them, unconditionally.  Although there were times of trouble and hurt feelings between them, as often happens in a family as large as hers, her home was always open.  So was her heart.  I think she was a passionate person who loved God and felt very strongly about things and didn’t mind telling you about them.

The older I get, the more I think about her.  I often dream about her.  I’d like to be like her in many ways.  I know I won’t be, simply because I’m not as strong a person as she ever was, but I’d like to take all those good things about her that I admired and apply them to my life.

She was there. 
She was so smart.  She was so strong.  She was so Southern. 

She was my grandmother - my Granny Buck.  The older I get, the more I miss her.