Edited Literacy Based On Final Draft Comments

Brooke Dillon

Dr. degravelles

Block4

September 10, 2013

Emailing Grannie

            This morning I woke up to the sound of chirping birds, and a burning sensation on my eyelids from the sun. I got out of bed, walked over to my phone, and I could immediately smell fresh bacon cooking from downstairs. After descending the stairs, I was greeted by my cheerful mother, “Good morning Brookie, how’d you sleep?” I ignored the question and answered aggravated, “I’m hungry mom.” I sat at the kitchen table for about ten minutes before I realized how rudely I had spoken to her. Trying again, my mom informed me that my grandma sent me an early birthday card. I suddenly felt a lump inside my throat. Inside the card was a corny happy birthday saying with her signature at the bottom. I felt extremely frustrated, not understanding why my grandma did not have the decency to call me. Suddenly, I had an idea, and I made up my mind. Ten years had gone by, and I had yet to receive a phone call from her; all I had received was a “mandatory” birthday card.

I opened up my laptop and went into Gmail. My inbox exploded with emails; however, none from grandma. I clicked new message and began typing, “Dear Grandma, I am particularly disappointed that you never call to wish me a happy birthday. I don’t want to bother you; I just wanted to know the reason you don’t attempt to talk to me. If it’s something I did please tell me, because I want you in my life.” After ten minutes of repeatedly re-reading the sentences, I signed my name and clicked send. The next forty-five minutes felt like days.  I refreshed my feed over and over again; each time growing more frustrated I had not received a response. I felt accomplished because that was the first time I wrote for pleasure. Finally I got a reply. Eagerly, I opened the message and began to read it. “Hi Brooke, sorry I have been busy lately. I hope your birthday was a worthy one. Tell the family hey for me.” After the seventh time evaluating it, I started to cry.  That’s it? “I’m busy?” I told my mom, but she was not astonished like I thought she would be; instead, she acted like that response was predictable. I desperately wanted a relationship with my grandma, and it upset me I was never invited to go to Florida where she lives. It felt like she did not want anything to do with me. I decided that I did not care how much I annoyed her.  I was determined to construct a relationship of some kind, no matter how hard that meant I had to try.

I began to compose a new email. I thought I only had a few things to say; however, by the end of the message I realized my full page was filled.  The funny thing is, I didn’t dread the fact that I was writing. Writing had always been a “requirement” and waste of time in my eyes. In that moment of time, I looked forward to typing and receiving emails. Writing to my grandma might be lousy, but it was the first time I ever felt involved with her.

After a year of solid back and forth emailing, my grandma finally invited me to her house. I immediately began packing because I was so thrilled to spend alone time with her and see her personality. I arrived in Florida around noon Monday morning. The first thing I remember is that her house had a distinct scent, one of peppermint citronella candles.  She politely greeted me, “Hey Brooke so great to see you.” I eagerly leaped into her arms and squeezed her tiny waist with great might. After talking for a few minutes, she decided to show me some of her favorite poems. I grew bored because I didn’t know how to tell her that reading or writing is not a hobby of mine. Two hours later, I was still sitting there reading poems, but I had actually become interested to my surprise. I thought to myself, maybe reading is not so bad.

By dinner I was starving, and I would have eaten just about anything. She opened the pantry and said, “Enjoy.” I gave her a confused look because I expected to have fresh cookies or a home cooked meal like my other grandma gives me. I did not complain, only because I was desperate to get along with her. She drifted into her bedroom and said goodnight as I finished my bowl of cereal. I dragged my body into my bedroom. It was 8:00 by now, and I was lying in bed bored. I decided to Google some poems to entertain myself, and Robert Frost had written the first one that appeared on the screen. I continued to read a few of his poems and suddenly found myself in a deep trance until I eventually fell asleep.

In the morning I woke up to a dark, quiet bedroom. I sauntered into the kitchen and did not see my grandma, but I did not want to walk into her room and intrude on her privacy. I opted to wait at the kitchen table for a few minutes. I had an urge to call my mom; however, I wanted to use my new email skills to talk to her. An hour later the back door quickly swung open. My grandma had shopping bags in her hand as she motioned a wave to her friend that dropped her off. She swiftly walked in and said, “We need to talk.” I swallowed slowly. She sat her bags down and stood over my left shoulder. She asked seriously, “How many pieces of toilet paper do you use?” I had no idea what kind of question that was so I simply said, “Come again?” A fire lit in her eyes, and she started yelling, “I asked how many toilet paper squares do you use?” I had absolutely no idea the answer to this. How would I know that answer, considering I had never counted things like this?

I emailed my mom and begged her to come get me. I told her how miserable and lonely I was so she immediately started driving. I told my grandma that my mom was on her way to come get me. Shockingly, she seemed happy. Hours later my mom rang the doorbell and appeared in the doorway; I was never so excited to see her in my life.

During the car ride home I began to think and see myself as a new girl. I saw a new side of me that was willing to do anything to connect with my grandma such as writing a simple email. Writing to her was my only hope. Not only did the email affect me, it affected my grandma as well. It showed her that I was still making a continuous effect to be in her life. After my miserable trip to her house, I had now come to conclusions that the best way to communicate with her was strictly through email. I decided I had been thinking long enough, so I closed my eyes to take a nap.

When I woke up I was already in my bed back at home.  I immediately ran to my computer and opened my Gmail, quickly refreshing my feed. I almost passed out when I saw an email from my grandma. I opened the message and began reading. “Dear Brooke, I am so sorry about the ways things went while you were at my house. I do love you; however, I like emailing better than interacting in person.” I was speechless.