Nonni and the Loaves and Fishes

Don’t let the name Gardiner fool you—I had a Sicilian grandmother. She and my grandfather lived on the West Side of Buffalo in an upstairs flat with three small bedrooms and one bath. They had eight children (and adopted two more) who were likewise highly accomplished in producing offspring, so I shared my grandparents with 35 other grandchildren. For us, my grandparents were the center of the universe, and Nonni, as we called her, was the sun.

I came across a picture of my grandmother recently, her hands covered with flour, smiling in her kitchen as she made her weekly loaves of bread. I am sure there was a pot of sauce on the stove and a plate of her figgy cuccidati cookies in the well-stocked pantry. In those days, no one ordered out, and restaurants were where you took a date, not your family. Food didn’t come prepared or frozen in packages. Everything was made from scratch, in between washing and hanging the laundry, scrubbing the floors, and a dozen other daily chores. My grandparents were far from rich but like the parable of the loaves and fishes, my Nonni knew how to take whatever she had and miraculously stretch it to make sure everyone had enough. We all knew we loved her, but I wonder if, at the time, we truly appreciated her.

As I thought back through all the great books of Western literature I’ve read, I began to wonder why grandmothers are rarely, if ever, the lead characters in our stories. Certainly, they play a central role in our lives. They guide our mothers through pregnancy and our births. They are there at our christenings, our First Communions, and if we are lucky, our graduations and weddings, always with a gift, a hug, and a smile. Grandmothers have the unique ability to make us feel like we’re the most important person in their world, even when we are one of 36 grandkids. Yet in our stories, they are always relegated to the supporting cast.

By the time a woman gets to be a grandmother, she has experienced the great joys of childbirth and marriage, endured her share of tragedies and loss, and witnessed (and mediated) a thousand family dramas. My Nonni was sweet and kind, but she was also wise. That so few grandmothers are the lead characters in our literature seems to me a terrible oversight, for there are few heroes who celebrate their accomplishments with more humility, and shoulder their setbacks with more stoicism and grace, than our grandmothers. I wish my Nonni were still here, so I could tell her I believe she belongs on a pedestal, and that women like her belong in the pantheon of great leading characters.

Are you a grandmother? If so—respect.

Do you still have a grandmother? If you do, tell her you love her and admire her, and that you wouldn’t be you, without her in your life. And do it today, before it’s too late.