Fried Green Tomatoes — Greek Style

Current Curiosities

​[Reading] ​The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
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[Listening] ​The Essential (Dixie) Chicks

[Watching] ​Carnival of Souls


Gyro to Hero: Grandma Gum 
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I grew up without grandfathers, which may have been a blessing as both were abusive alcoholics. And after the age of six, I had one grandma. My paternal grandmother, an exceptionally mean Norwegian woman, died from Parkinson's disease when I was in first grade. She lived four houses away from my maternal Greek grandmother, Grandma Gum, in Moorhead, MN. Her name is actually Caroline, but she always had chewing gum in her pockets ready to share with her grandchildren. I believe my older sister, prior to my birth, coined this nickname, which has stuck for more than 40 years, and which my nieces and nephews, her great grandchildren, still call her today. 

Grandma Gum was born in 1929 in the Little Italy neighborhood of Dilworth, MN. Her father, Nikolas, immigrated alone from Corfu as a teenager. He was a short man with a bushy mustache. Great Grandpa Nick, my middle namesake, worked in the icehouse for the Great Northern Railroad. When not working he cultivated a large vegetable garden in the plot next door and grew carnations in coffee cans placed in every window of the house. He smoked a pipe and imported olive oil from Italy before it was fashionable. (The chair he rested on under a tree where he smoked his pipe currently sits in my living room.) 

Grandma Gum's mother, Susie, whose family immigrated a generation or two earlier, grew up on a farm and often pulled the plow when there were no animals around to help. She quilted and canned and served as a bonded mail carrier. Great Grandma Susie was a tough, yet deeply caring woman. (She died shortly before I was born.) Grandma Gum was one of nine surviving children. Susie and Nick had a set of twins who died soon after birth and were buried in the same cemetery their parents eventually would be. The twins were separated, one on the Protestant and one on the Catholic side of the graveyard. Susie was a Lutheran and Nick a lapsed Greek Orthodox. I believe Susie married Nick to escape her life on the farm. That is not to say their marriage wasn't a happy one. Honestly, I do not know. Only they knew for sure. 

During our weekly Sunday morning telephone calls, Grandma Gum often remarks to this day how strict her father was. Nick ruled the house with a leather belt or wooden spoon, whichever was closer at hand. In high school, Grandma Gum and her older sisters were not allowed to date, but her brothers and younger sister were. Isn't that the way it goes? Parents lighten up over time with their younger children (writes the baby of my own family). Theirs was a tough house in which to grow up. 

​Anyway, Grandma Gum graduated from Dilworth High School and took a job at Herbst Department Store in Downtown Fargo, ND. She married her husband in order to leave her parent's home, much like Great Grandma Susie had done. Her new husband served in the Army during and shortly after the Korean War. Together, they had four children. My mom, their third child, was born on a base in Nuremberg, Germany. Their family moved from base to base, from Germany to Kansas and back to Minnesota. He was an abusive alcoholic, and eventually, Grandma Gum divorced him to protect herself and her children. Now, she was a single mom, raising four kids in the 1960s.

In order to provide for her family, Grandma Gum matriculated into Dakota Business College. (Now defunct, you can still see the school's ghost sign on the corner of 8th Street and Main Avenue in Fargo.) She could not afford the tuition on her department store salary, so she cleaned the administrator's home in exchange for classes. She worked full-time, attended school, and raised four children without help. Grandma Gum is the reason I went to college (well, that and my parent's Boomer logic that you needed a college degree in order to be successful). She was the only one of her siblings to attend college. Grandma Gum's grit, problem solving, and hustle have had a significant impact on my life. 

As I mentioned earlier, I grew up without grandfathers — both dying from complications of their respective alcoholisms long before I was born. In her own way, Grandma Gum was both grandma and grandpa. Some of my favorite memories are of her picking me up from Packerland Preschool or South Elementary in West Fargo, ND, driving across the Red River into Moorhead to craft or project — and bond.

She had a large backyard with apple and plum trees, lilac hedges, lily of the valley transplanted from her mother's house, and a substantial vegetable garden like her father. She and I would weed and push-mow, prune trees and bushes. We'd work on home projects together with me handing her specific tools from the metal toolbox. Many of the tools belonged to Great Grandpa Nick and had been modified for his small, arthritic hands. We'd paint siding and trim and once installed carpet. I learned how to jerry-rig furniture and other household items with what she calls MacGyver tape​. Grandma Gum filled the void left by addiction and abuse and instilled in me a kind of gentle, determined masculinity. She was the one family member I did not worry about coming out to when I finally chose to more fully, more openly be myself at age 25.

To paraphrase Miley Cyrus, with Grandma Gum I got the best of both worlds. She is a grandmother after all. She taught me how to sew and knit. Together we made a quilt out of old bluejeans that I still keep in my car (at her advising) in case I ever get stuck on the road during Minnesota's frigid winters. We baked — peanut butter blossoms, fudge, zucchini bread (one loaf with chocolate chips for me and one without for her). We built furniture for my Barbies and Ninja Turtles. We spent a lot of time in her craft room, my favorite room in her house, which had thick orange and brown shag carpet. I cannot tell you how many times a lost sewing needle lying in wait among the tufts slid into the side of my bare foot. To this day, I avoid high-pile carpeting at all costs. 

While we baked or worked on projects, Grandma Gum would put a tape into the VCR (after The Young and the Restless finished, of course). It would be one of two movies: Sister Act or Fried Green Tomatoes. We'd sing along with Whoopi and her gang of white nuns while crafting. But of the two movies, we'd return more often to Fried Green Tomatoes and cook. She loves to fry food in olive oil, just like her father. We'd fry green tomatoes when in season or zucchini, which was more abundant throughout the summer. While I didn't realize it as a child, this movie is hella queer and also shaped my way of being in the world.  

Fried Green Tomatoes tells the story of two stealth queer women, who after much hardship finally end up together, opening the Whistle Stop Cafe, where they cook and bake for their community — and barbecue an occasional Klansman. The secret's in the sauce! (My sincere apologies if that spoils an over thirty-year-old movie and an even older novel for you.) I do not know if Grandma Gum realized how queer our favorite movie was. I could ask her during our next telephone call or visit because at 96, even with fading eyesight, she's still feisty and living on her own kitty-corner from my parents' house in West Fargo.

I like to think Grandma Gum knew I was different as a child, maybe not queer per se, but she actively supported me and my curiosities. I like to think we rewatched Fried Green Tomatoes because she saw something in the movie that she also saw in me, even if she didn't have the words for it. I like to think that when the inevitable happens, I will always be able to find her among Smokey Lonesome and Sipsey and Big George and Ruth and Idgie in the frames of our favorite movie.

​It's vital for queer and trans children to have at least one adult in their lives who sees them, who listens to what's being said and left unsaid, who supports them as they navigate their emerging identities. And at nearly forty years old, Grandma Gum continues to be that person for me, as I navigate the precariousness of being a queer professional in the Upper Midwest. Sometimes her advice feels wildly dated, but she means well and relies on her own experiences as a woman surviving the workplace at a time when workplaces weren't built for women, especially women with children. (Workplaces still aren't equipped to support women — or queer and trans people.) Her intention has always been to support and protect me. And for that I am forever grateful. 

Grandma Gum is my hero — or gyro​ if you're feeling feisty.

Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form.

Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, 

Creighton 

Today’s Pen(cil): Moonman Wancai Mini 2.0 [Fountain Pen] | Monteverde Capri Blue [Ink]