November 29, 2024
I’ve always appreciated grandparents. They are our elders, those who have weathered many storms that we can only imagine. Their lives hold a depth of experience and wisdom that’s invaluable.
I lost my grandmother at a young age, and I only have two memories with her. One is of me sitting on her lap, sipping Persian tea, my favorite, and the other is of a trip to the fruit market. In many places around the world, fruit markets are magical. In Iran, the streets leading to the outdoor markets are infused with the beautiful scent of fresh fruit—particularly apples, sweet lemons, and honeydew.
One morning, my grandma took me to the market. I remember watching her use her tips and tricks (gheleghs) to find the best fruit for us. She was a beautifully kind woman. And she loved me very much. She would feed me Persian stews and soups as a baby, and I still cherish those taste’s today.
My grandpa lived quite a bit longer than her. He lived to be 113, and I always remember him as a sweet and gentle man. A farmer by trade, he knew the value of hard work and kindness.
Every day after school, he’d fix us honey with the comb, some bread, and we’d share a midday snack together. My mom would make us tea, and it became our special time.
One of my favorite memories with him was when I made him coconut jelly. By third grade, I had already mastered the art of baking from a Strawberry Shortcake cookbook I received in first grade. He loved it—slurping it up, asking for seconds and thirds—and I felt so proud to have made something he enjoyed so much.
I would often make him chai, and once, I tried to make it extra special by pronouncing it in a Barghamadi accent. My grandpa laughed harder than I had ever seen him laugh. The way I said “chai” was so funny to him that my mom came in to see what was going on, and she joined in the laughter too. That moment of shared joy has stayed with me.
Recently, I had the opportunity to visit my husband’s grandparents and other relatives. The love and warmth I felt from them was unlike anything I could have expected. They shared beautiful stories of their lives and took me in as one of their own. I had grandparents again.
We took walks in the picturesque midwestern countryside, with autumn leaves painting the landscape and charming river towns dotting the horizon. As we walked, I listened to their stories of resilience, hard work, and the joy of family connection. My husband’s grandparents shared tales of their lives—of survival, perseverance, and love. One of my favorite pieces of advice came from my husband's great uncle, who recommended living by the Golden Rule and surrounding myself with people who share good values. He reminded me that we are the sum of the people we choose to be around, and if our friends’ actions aren’t aligned with ethics, it’s time to find new ones. That advice really resonated with me.
And then there’s my sweet Grannie. I first met her over eight years ago at a local café. I immediately felt safe and loved in her presence. Her warmth, kindness, and generosity have been constants in my life, and she treats everyone she meets with compassion.
Staying at her home brought back a Persian song from my childhood, "خونه ی مادر بزرگ که هزار تا قسه داره"—“Grandma’s home has thousands of stories.” It was a fitting reminder of the stories shared around her kitchen table, the laughter, the walks, the food, and the love.
Grannie gave me her mother’s salad recipe, which I made for Thanksgiving dinner. It was absolutely delicious, and I could almost feel her mom’s spirit with us as we shared the meal.
She told me beautiful stories about her and my grandpa—the way he was always loving, protective, and comforting. She spoke of her first day of work, overwhelmed, and how he was there to take care of her. Of how they shared the responsibilities of their home, always looking out for each other.
Grandpa, too, was kind to me. He once gifted me a beautiful pearl necklace, and when I wear it, I feel a deep connection to him. I speak to him sometimes, asking for guidance and wisdom.
I’ll leave you with one of my favorite quotes by Lalah Delia: “Your grandmother’s prayers are still protecting you.”
With love,
Tara
