My grandmother made the best banana bread I’ve ever had in my life. I’m certain of this, in spite of the fact she passed away when I was ten, and she was only part of my life for a short time. Grandma came to live with us after Grandpa’s death and she died of a stroke in our driveway a few months later.
That’s the funny thing about trauma. You often remember bits and pieces, but sometimes there are big holes. I remember how Grandma died, but I don’t remember who told me, or what, exactly, they said to me. I don’t remember a funeral. Grandma was just there, and then she was gone.
When Grandma Lena first moved in, I was told to stay clear of her because she didn’t like children. But that could have been my Mother’s voice in my ear. She hadn’t been overjoyed at having her mother-in-law living with us. Or maybe my childhood anxiety made up that story and it’s what I’ve stuck with all these years? Who knows.
Grandma felt like a stranger in our home. Whatever the reason, we never got close. But she made us all Banana Bread a few times. It must have been her specialty, because that’s all I remember her baking. Mother never made banana bread. She made Nestle Toll House Cookies, and butterscotch brownies. She even made me a Barbie cake one year for my birthday – you know the kind – where the cake is the skirt and a Barbie is inserted into the middle of it. But she never made banana bread. I don’t think I’d ever had banana bread before Grandma came to live with us.
I remember the warm fragrance of cinnamon and banana when Grandma pulled it out of the oven. I would lurk just out of sight waiting for Grandma to clean up and retreat to her room. Once the coast was clear, I would creep in and cut a slice. I’d slather it with butter, and then make my way back to my bedroom to enjoy it in private.
The butter melted easily into the still warm bread, enhancing the banana and walnut aromas. My head would swim with anticipation of that first bite!
I would lap up every crumb and every drop of butter from the plate and then plot my next heist. How much time should I wait before snatching another piece? How many slices could I get away with?
For some reason, I’ve never been good at making banana bread. But to this day, whenever I spot it, freshly baked in a shop, I need to try a piece. “Warm it, please. And may I have some butter?” Sadly, none so far have lived up to my memory of Grandma Lena’s banana bread.
It’s amazing how a short-term, innocuous event or circumstance can leave such a clear and lasting impression. There’s a lot I don’t remember about my dysfunctional upbringing, but oh – I remember that banana bread!
What fond memories do you have of childhood – or any other time – that stand out in spite of life not being so great otherwise during that time? Any you’d like to share?
Discover more from Mel Erickson: Writer, Traveler, Observer, Occasional Deep Thinker
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