Grandma wasn’t demonstrative, but loving nonetheless

At a second-grade classmate's birthday party, the birthday girl's grandfather put her on his lap and presented her with a silver dollar. I remember wishing I had a grandparent who would affectionately put me on his lap. The silver dollar was extraneous. It was that automatic acceptance and affection I envied.

My paternal grandmother, Susan Gottesman Pollock, was a vivid presence in our home, first when we lived in Tennessee, then when the family moved to Baltimore. My father had changed careers so we could live in Baltimore.

Grandma was a widow, her husband died in his 50s, and she followed my father, her favorite son, to every city he moved. So she was a constant presence in Baltimore, rather than in her hometown, Scranton. My grandmother lived on Social Security; she was not well off, but what she had, she gave. My father helped support her. Though she was not openly affectionate, she showed her love in the way she knew. She was generous to us.

The first time I remember my grandmother, when I was 7, my sister, Elissa, and I woke up to find in our beds two dolls, each with beautiful hair, tiny bobby pins and dresses Grandma made herself with scraps of material. I took such care of my doll, keeping her hair neat, guarding the pins in place.

Though they were poor in the 1930s, my grandmother managed to buy her intelligent son, my father, a used set of Collier's encyclopedias. Installed in our bookcase wherever we moved and long out of date, they were never consulted.