where she gets it

Letty is a bit of a conundrum. She is most certainly like me, attitude speaking. But the me now. The thirty year old me. The three year old me was nothing like her. I was a good little girl even if I did bite my arm to demonstrate indifference. But Letty. How come she is the way she is? There are many kinder words at my diaposal to explain her behavior when it comes towards Matt and I. Strong willed. Independent. Active. Strong minded. But she is downright bratty

A few weeks ago I was visiting with my 90 year old Grammy like I do every Monday and I was perusing some old photo albums... And found this:

There! That face! I've seen that before. That general look of annoyance. The perturbed stare. I see it daily. In my daughter. And that photo is certainly not of my daughter. No. It is of a certain Grammy of mine in her fourth year of life in 1928. 

I had heard and bits and pieces through the past that my Grammy was a self-proclaimed brat. I just didn't believe it really. I saw none of that. But she tells the stories. The one about her adverse reaction to a prom dress. The one about her outright refusal to pose for a photograph with her father that turned out to be his last. The one about her disdain for a coat that landed her locked in a kitchen screaming until she ruptured a hernia that later required surgery. Yeah that last one. That has Letty written all over it. 

So there is hope for my little strong willed wonder. She may one day sit across from her grandchildren and great-grandchildren in all her frail but vibrant state remembering the days that she drove her parents crazy. And that's just alright. Because my Grammy turned out just fine. And I can handle the abuse in the mean time.