Happy Friday, folks!
Here’s the redacted part of Monday’s post, appearing in Wednesday’s Altavista Journal.
It’s a BIRTHDAY SECRET! Happy 98th birthday to my Grandma Kay.
I’m pleased with this. Hopefully the mailman delivers it to her today, five hundred miles to the north.
Late Night Radio–With Josh Urban
“A Birthday TeleGram”
Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show. Imagine a crackle of static on the radio. This is a pretend show in the wee small hours, right? In my best DJ voice: “a big shout-out to my Grandma Kay on her 98th birthday.”
As long as I've been able to read, the envelopes have arrived. Sometimes it's trains. Sometimes it's stars, or guitars, or bees. Grandma has mailed me interesting newspaper clippings forever. I thought it would be clever to write her a happy birthday, print it in the paper, cut it out, and send it back. In a way, we'd all be wishing her a happy birthday on the joyous occasion.
Last Friday after a program, an unruly five year old asked if I had a mom. The opportunity was too good to ignore.
“No.”
He looked confused until I laughed and reassured him. (I obviously don't have any kids.)
Maybe he meant what's your mom like? You might be wonder the same about my grandmother. Everyone has ancestors, but Grandma Kay is a singular individual.
We talk on the phone often. She tells me tales: of cross-country road trips, seeing FDR on the back of a train rolling through her native Hartford, Connecticut; shaking Paul Newman's hand (“he had the bluest eyes”), Johnny Carson's rudeness at the USO, working at the aircraft factory office during WWII, riding the streetcar with her drummer father on his way to a gig, and lots of polka dancing.
One story wasn't new to me, but I wanted to hear it again. Hanging on every word, I leaned in– if one could lean across five hundred miles and a telephone–as she begin.
“The dreaded knock came one day on the farmhouse door. Your great, great grandfather was only 18. The Russian army took him away, and that was that. Everyone thought he died in the Crimean war, but somehow, he survived the battles. Russia lost when he was in Turkey. They were clean out of money. Told him 'good luck' and waved goodbye. Broke, exhausted, defeated, he was a thousand miles from home.”
“So then what did he do, Grandma?”
“He started walking. Walked and walked, all the way back to Lithuania, knocked on the farmhouse door, and said 'I'm home.' Left when he was 18, came back when he was 40.”
“No WAY” I exclaimed at this tale of fortitude. Maybe I need to walk more.
“Yeah, got married, and had eight kids. See, there's still hope for you.”
Mike Tyson couldn't have thrown a better uppercut. Pow. My head snapped back. I coughed. Spluttered. Choked. Then burst into laughter.
“Ah, ya got me, Grandma.” She joined the mirth
And that's her, folks. Won't you join me in singing? Happy birthday, dear Kathryn....
Catch you on the flip side,
Josh