Grandma’s Hankies

by Ann Duff

Ann is the wife of Terry Duff, the first vice-chairman of the deacon board at First Baptist Church of Hammond, Indiana.

Recently as I was rummaging through a dresser drawer, I came across my “hanky box,” which is a worn-out box that used to hold scented dusting powder. Now it contains stacks of old, beautiful handkerchiefs that are keepsakes to me. As I was browsing through the box, I thought, “Who in the world has a hanky box in the year 2006? In this generation of disposable everything, does anyone even use a hanky anymore?” In the box are handkerchiefs from each of my grandmothers. In a way, they are a symbol of the women themselves. These thoughts as I looked at the hankies took me back in time to the memories I have of my grandmas.

            They are not fancy, delicate hankies. One hanky belonging to my Grandma Mimmy is as thin as gauze with a narrow crocheted edging. This hanky was tucked in her ample bosom so it was in reach when she needed to mop her brow or wipe a tear. It was also used to dab a scraped knee or blow the nose of a grandchild. The hankies remind me of the way she smelled—not perfumy, but a well-scrubbed clean smell. I wonder if it was the starch in her cotton dress and apron that made her smell so good.

            She was fair-skinned with curly, unruly hair. The only way she knew how to tame her hair was to plaster it down in small waves all over her head. One of her favorite things was chewing gum which she called “wax.” Because she didn’t have gum, she chewed paraffin used for canning instead.

            She knew nothing of the “Me Generation.” She was no stranger to hard labor or sorrow. In 1929 she became a widow with four children faced with the overwhelming prospect of rearing them alone. I know she never heard of postpartum depression. The only Depression she knew of was the one she and the rest of the nation was suffering through. When she had reared her three sons to young manhood, each one served overseas during World War II in a different branch of the military. Her only son-in-law who was in the Army lost an arm in combat.

            When I think of the hardships she endured all of her life, it does pull at my heart. She eventually remarried and had another child. In 1960 when she lived in a small town in a neat little house, she willingly gave it up to move back to the farm (outhouse included) with no running water except for the pump at her kitchen sink. We didn’t hear her complain. Her house was on a dirt road, and like most farm houses, there were two front doors. On hot summer days when a car drove by, billows of dust blew in her house. The brutal winters were the opposite extreme with their own set of hardships. We still didn’t hear her complain.

            You didn’t have to call ahead to let her know you were coming for supper. Everyone was always welcome, and there was always plenty of food. Everyone in the family remembers her motto: “We can always find a way.”

            Through it all, she was sunshine personified. I truly have never met a happier, more giving person who lived her life for others. No one had told her she had to be fulfilled in life. She knew she was doing what she loved best, and that was caring for her family. With ten grandchildren, I don’t know how she managed to make each one of us feel like we were her favorite. When she gave us a hug, we knew we were being hugged. My Grandma’s original nickname for me was “Annayesee.” She combined my name with “yes” in answer to my countless questions!