My Grandma Made Me Do It


This is my grandma, but I call her Nanny. Wine drinker, iPad user, and founder of our local Knitter’s Guide (no, really), Nanny is quite talented. But one talent that she doesn’t often share with people outside the family is the fact that she believes that she’s a witch. Not like a wiccan, or an evil old wench, but sort of a good, sorta psychic, sorta I don’t even really know. It’s just something she’s told me all my life, and when she cured my tummyaches with a magical mixture of sprite and orange juice, you bet your butt I believed her. To prove to the family, or maybe just to spite them, when each of her grandchildren were born she had everyone in our immediate family write down a profession on a piece of paper and sealed them up and took bets.

I just found out about this practice recently when my oldest cousin graduated from college and my aunt and grandpa reminded my Nanny that it was time to bust out the predictions. With my cousin having picked a career path that none of us would have guessed  (interior design, not to be confused with interior decoration), Nanny claims to have “misplaced” my cousin’s envelope.

Of course, all of the grandkids wanted to know what our family had predicted for us, and especially what Nanny thought. While she doesn’t seem to remember what she thought my cousin was meant to be, she looked me in the eye and told me what she had been telling me since I can remember:

“Hailey, you’re a writer.”

So when I told her that I was doing a 30 day blogging challenge, she chided me for not already being an internationally published author. After showering me with her crippling grandmotherly overestimation of my talent, she asked me what it was called. I kind of balked.

“I don’t know, Nanny. It’s just my blog.”

“You should call it My Grandma Made Me Do It.

While I doubt that the little 21 year old piece of paper really holds any valuable information about what my profession will be (I’m actually excited about pursuing a career as a sexual health educator), I know that my Nanny, like many other wonderful people around me, for some reason find my writing enjoyable. And you know what? I really fucking love writing. Maybe Nanny can’t really tell the future, but she sure as hell can hone in on what makes her grandkids happy.

And here I am, three glasses of red wine, a mug of tea and many, many spritz cookies later writing, well, because my grandma made me do it.


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