Watch Out! She Has No Lips.

It’s a vivid memory. Grandpop relaxing on the garden swing he had built himself, warm sun peeking through the leaves of the grape vine that covered the trellis overhead. It was the place he liked best, swinging slowly, reading his paper and smoking his cigar. As little guys, we were frequently left under his not-so-watchful care. We’d play tag, make a lot of noise and occasionally hear a gentle admonition like, “be careful not to trample on your grandmother’s flowers.”

My grandmother, fondly known as Baba, spent much of her time baking something scrumptious in the oven of the coal stove that dominated the kitchen. The smell of fresh bread and cookies would waft out the open window, beckoning us in to fill our tummies. 

Aw, the idyllic life that it was.

“What!! Are you kidding me?” my brother blurted out, interrupting my fond reminiscence during our recent catch-up call. “Boy, do you have selective memory!” 

“What do you mean?  I have many fond memories of our grandparents. Like Grandpop ringing the doorbell on Christmas Eve. We knew this was Santa arriving, meaning it was time to open our presents in the parlor. That’s a wonderful memory!”

My brother laughed and said, “Yes, Grandpop was a lot of fun. But how about the broom incident?”

And, just like that, it came flooding back. It was mid-June, circa 1958 and the last day of school was fast approaching. It was already hot outside and Grandpop, the self-proclaimed “barber in chief,” decided it was time to give his grandsons their summertime buzz cut, known in our family as the “scundy.” Out came the scissors, clippers and dust brush. In turn, each of my two brothers sat on a high stool strategically placed beneath the grapevine, draped in a clean towel to catch errant pieces of hair.

Bernie, the six-year-old, was having a hard time sitting still. He was graduating from first grade the next day and could not contain his excitement. “Isn’t tomorrow the last day of school?” my grandfather queried while admonishing him to stop moving. “I think we should give you a real treat!” 

And before you could say “buzz cut,” Grandpop’s eyes began to twinkle, and a funny grin spread over his face. The next thing you knew, the dear old man had run his hair trimmer right up the back of my brother’s head, cleanly shearing the locks right down to the scalp with the rest of the head following suit.

By the time he was finished, Bernie was nearly bald. He didn’t realize what had just happened, but was about to find out. With some pride, Grandpop handed him a mirror to see the results.

One look and my poor little brother let out a shriek and started to cry. Our grandfather immediately tried to get him to stop by tickling his face with the hair duster brush. Which prompted even more howls and waterworks, which in turn brought my grandmother running outside. And that’s when the real fun started. 

She took one look at my cleanly shorn brother’s head and grabbed her broom. “Watch out!” warned Grandpop. “She has no lips!” a telltale sign that my grandmother was really, really mad. Baba moved swiftly toward the target of her anger, brandishing her broom like a weapon. The look on my grandfather's face quickly went from a charming grin to slight terror. Then he did something we’d never seen him do before - he started to run with my grandmother in hot pursuit.  

For the next five minutes she chased him around the perimeter of the house, threatening to make him pay for his overly enthusiastic shearing. “How could you Joe?” she yelled at the top of her lungs. We’d all been the focus of her ire and had witnessed her pursed lips when we’d been naughty. But this was something else entirely. Grandpop’s actions were not to be easily forgiven and Baba’s grandma tiger claws had come out in full force. 

Looking back, I don’t recall that she actually hit him with the broom; she most likely did not. But even now, each time I experience the “Pirates of the Caribbean” ride at Disney and watch the figure of the new bride chasing the pirate round and round with a broom, I think of my grandmother in hot pursuit of my grandfather. It has remained a cherished, comical memory of two marvelous grandparents interacting.

It’s also funny how expressions or characteristics can sometimes rub off on others. Every so often, my hubby will turn to me and ask, “Are you mad?” That’s usually when I realize that my “tell” of no lips is showing. And not that I’d ever use it, it’s also when I look to see if the broom is close at hand.

© 2024  Annie Sokoloff