my early years in my hometown of rural Richards, Texas
(circa 1949)
my dad and me at a family picnic in matching shirts
made by my grandmother (circa 1951)
a birthday party dress made by my grandmother (circa 1951)
my grandmother made this dress and a picture postcard of me
for her family Easter card in 1949
Bless her heart. My grandmother tried and tried to reshape my fashions which upon reflection she probably hoped would reshape my life. One of the most dreaded phrases my mother ever spoke to me – the one that made me cringe-was “Your grandmother is making you a new dress and needs you to walk down to her house to try it on. No arguments, no whining, just go.”
I absolutely hated to stand on her little stool while she endlessly pinned away to make sure the pattern she bought from a grand clothing store in much bigger town Navasota fit perfectly on my small body. She pulled, tugged here and there, made me turn around as she measured whatever cloth she had purchased when she bought the pattern. I prayed silently that the aroma I smelled was her pineapple fried pies…the only possible redemption from the hell of being poked and prodded for a new dress I didn’t want to wear.
My grandmother Betha Day Robinson Morris and I lived within shouting distance of each other in the tiny town (pop. about 500) of Richards until my dad found a new job that took us out of the place I called home when I was 13 years old. Our new home in Brazoria was less than two hours from Richards so we came back every other week for most of my teenage years. Distance did not deter my grandmother from her sewing, however.
She usually managed to have something for me to try on whenever we visited. I finally surrendered to her passion for sewing because as I grew older I came to understand sewing was an important part of her life, but to this day I dread hearing Pretty say she brought something home for me to try on.
my grandmother surveys her granddaughters
before Easter Sunday church services in 1963
I was 17 years old and wearing a dress my grandmother made for me
while my younger cousin Melissa modeled her store-bought outfit
My grandmother continued to sew for me until I was in my twenties. Every Christmas she wrapped a large box in her best wrapping paper and favorite bow saved from the previous Christmas to give to me. I always opened with feigned surprise at the dress she made for me to wear to church and praised her for being able to still find the perfect pattern and material for me even when I wasn’t there to try it on.
I’ll never forget the last time I opened a gift of clothing she made for me. She had made a pants suit – unbelievable. I could see she was pleased with herself for breaking from the dress tradition she wanted me to wear to making the pants she now understood would forever be my choice of clothes. The year was 1968 – I was 22 years old – my grandmother would have been 55. The pants suit represented a rite of passage for both of us.
Unfortunately, I never could bring myself to wear the pants suit which was made with a hideous polyester fabric and a horrible bright green and white large zig zag pattern. I couldn’t bring myself to wear it, but I carried it with me around the country wherever I moved for the next 30 years. I would carefully hang it in my closet as a daily reminder of the love my grandmother gave me for as long as she lived.
My grandmother Betha was a flawed individual but what I wouldn’t give today to hear my mother say “Sheila Rae, your grandmother is making you a new dress and wants you to try it on. No arguments, no whining, just go.”
Stay tuned.
(A special shout out to my blogging friend Luanne at http://writersite.org for inspiring me to write about clothes.)
I'll Call It Like I See It 
Comments
20 responses to “the battle my grandmother lost”
That’s a great story. I too was longing for a photo of the amazing pant suit, symbol of your grandmother’s understanding. Frankly I gave up trying to influence my daughter’s style when she was four. Her will was stronger than mine and it was a relief to say OK, we’ll go with the purple sweater, red tartan skirt and yellow tights. Dress is part of our identity.
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That’s a great story, too – good for you…and for her. Happy Women’s History Month!
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What a moving story 🙂 Nothing beats a grandmother’s love! I’m going to need to see a picture of that pants suit 🙂
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Thanks so much – I’m thinking there isn’t a picture but maybe there is somewhere!
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BTW you were such a cute kid!
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Thanks so much, Luanne, and thanks for inspiring me to write about the clothes my grandmother made for me. I’m not sure I would have had the courage otherwise.
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As you can imagine, I LOVED reading this!
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I hope so!!!!
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LOL!
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Good grief, thanks for making me cry about that pantsuit! As you probably remember my grandmother also used to make my clothes and even my shorts sets were a little frilly. I loved that she sewed so well and wanted to make my clothes but loved the doll clothes better and HATED being fitted as she seemed judgmental and used to poke me with pins–I thought on purpose.
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Yes, being fitted was evil! 🙂
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Pure evil, and I ascribed it to Grandma LOL.
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This is Great! You favor your grandmother so much !
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Thanks so much, JD! I’m so tickled that you read my blog and enjoy it! Teresa said the same thing after she saw that picture. She said you look just like your grandmother – particularly her arms!! 🙂
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Ah, the sixties’ pant suit. It must have been quite a leap for your grandmother to jump from dress to pants. And the fabric! You brought it all to life in vivid detail. I can feel it AND see it.
Once my mother started wearing pants in the late 60’s she NEVER wore a dress again.
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I wore them to funerals through the years until Pretty told me to never wear a dress again – we were at her uncle’s funeral, and my pantyhose kept falling down when we’d stand up to sing for a congregational hymn. Pretty said, Never again.
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The trouser suit! Oh girl!
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You make me laugh! The trouser suit…oh, girl!
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Wonderful moving memoir. Family memoriesive on in so many ways and so often come unbidden. Regards Thom.
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Thanks very much, Thom. The memories do often come unbidden.
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