I’m Really Glad My Grandmother Is Dead

I’m so glad my grandmother, Bubba, is dead. She died more than fifteen years ago at the age of 100 and I’m glad she’s gone. I loved Bubba but this world we live in today is not where she belonged.

First, there’s the crazy stuff on television that I wouldn’t have been able to protect her from. What if she had accidently stumbled upon Jerry Springer and heard about the cross dressing father of nine.

What if Bubba heard about sexting and strip karoke. That stuff would have killed her.

Then there’s the whole problem with self service gas stations. Bubba was the consummate Southern Lady. She never every wore a pair of pants and she never left her house without her girdle. She wore gloves to church. How would she ever get gas for her car?Lord knows she would never consider getting out and pumping it herself. She liked tooting her horn then watching the attendant check her oil and squeegee her windshield.

And finally, my Bubba could not have lived in a world full of Wal-Marts. Bubba always ordered her groceries from a little store that delivered to her back door. I still remember the delivery man coming in and helping her put the groceries away. She would tip him fifty cents. Bubba would not have been able to navigate the acres of choices we now have in a Wal-Mart Super Center. Hell, she wouldn’t have made it across the football field like parking lot.

My grandmother was born in 1895. She remembered seeing her first car when it rumbled through Fordyce, Arkansas, surrounded by a great cloud of dust. Everybody lined the streets and cheered for the driver. But Bubba didn’t see another car for three years! Just horses, mules and wagons traveled the rural Arkansas streets.

I love you Bubba, but you’re not here and that’s a really good thing.