When I was a child my grandmother loved to listen to the blues. Before the age of twelve I could easily identify the likes of Bobby Blue Bland, ZZ Hill, Johnny Taylor and any other artist she was inclined to listen to. And even though I didn’t understand the meaning of those songs I knew every word.
Payday Friday’s were a time of fish fries, dominoes and a game of spades if you were up for the challenge. Rising above the noise of conversation between individuals and trash talking from whomever was winning the game was the sound of blues playing in the background. “Cheating in the next room. Making plans to be there soon. Talking softly on the telephone…” I can still remember the adults laughing as us children sang along from the front porch. I didn’t understand then why my grandmother enjoyed the blues so much. I’m not sure what relational issues she endured after my grandfather’s death. Nor the societal struggles she confronted daily as an African American woman. But I do know that the sound of the blues coming softly from the record player seemed to calm her like nothing else could. As you write from this journal prompt think of how you can honor your grandparents in the process.
Source: A Writer’s book of days