I can still hear my Granny Gladys’ words echoing in my mind. “If they ain’t talkin’ ‘bout you… then you ain’t doin’ nothin’. Nobody asked you to be perfect,” she repeated so often that I eventually began finishing that sentence during her “talks.”
Gladys Anthony Arnett was the epitome of tough. From a sharecropper to a C.N.A. to a social worker, she was a walking testament to what my family describes as the resilience of the Anthony women. Granny was firm yet loving. She had a unique way of connecting with 10 children and a host of grandchildren based on our individual personalities.
I was a quirky kid with a tragically, complicated homelife. Books and writing became my escape from a world that did not always make sense to my little eyes and ears. I made friends with wonderful characters like Ramona Quimby, Scout Finch and Huckleberry Finn. I traveled the universe through the eyes of sci-fi authors. I fell madly in love with storytelling.
That did not always make for the best conversations on the playground or in the cafeteria. Other kids mocked the way I talked, words I used and the fact I would write a letter to a friend almost every class period.
There were times when I wanted so desperately to finish a book that I took extended trips to the bathroom. And during those awkward tween years, while others vegged out on video games, I became obsessed with writing (really, really bad) poetry.
I got picked on for “always having a book in her hand.” My childhood claim to cooking was that I burned everything from toast to bologna, until I was finally banned from Granny’s kitchen. I missed meals because I would disappear to quiet corners of the house and stay up late nights binging on the latest adventure.
I have dozens of Granny stories but one summer, in particular, was a turning point. College would be impossible without scholarships and financial aid, but when I overheard some of my classmates talking about this prestigious Governor’s School program, I saw that as my shot. Rumor had it that the eight-week summer program for academically and artistically inclined students was one of the greatest resume boosters.
I felt like I was at a crossroads because some of my closest friends and family said it was silly for me to leave a great summer job at the local newspaper and “give up” my last summer before senior year to go to school where they didn’t give even give grades. Plus, Governor’s School competition was brutal. Each school system had two (semi-guaranteed) slots called Superintendent nominees. The students had to go through an intense application process including personal essays, letters of recommendation, interviews with administration and IQ testing. A number of my classmates (and parents) felt they were more deserving.
It was a tough decision for a 16-year-old. Granny could see it was weighing on me heavily when she called me in for a “talk.” I remember sitting on the edge of her bed and telling her that “people,” including close friends, were calling me stupid. My boyfriend at the time had threatened to break up with me if I went away for the summer. It could mean missing my senior year of cheerleading due to conflicting practices and summer camp. (You know, real important teen stuff!) And there was no guarantee this would lead to scholarships or college acceptance.
Granny didn’t make me feel like any of those things were not important. But she looked at me that day in a not-so-tough way and asked, “You’ve told me what everybody else has to say. Well, what do YOU want?” It sounds simple, right? But it is a practice we deny ourselves too often in decision making. I wanted to spend the summer learning. In that moment, I realized it did not matter if it ever led to anything else. I could feel my face light up when I talked about the opportunity. Like it did during the week of the book fair, like it did when John Grisham published a new novel, like it did when I found out Nelson Mandela was freed.
I applied, was accepted and embraced one of my favorite moments in education. It was there in Winston-Salem, where I finally embraced my quirkiness. We went to classes, lectures, performances and at night we spent evenings on the campus of Salem College talking about how to change the world. I made lifelong friends I would meet again at UNC-Chapel Hill. I will always be grateful that Granny taught me how to think critically then of course ended with “If they ain’t talkin’ ‘bout you… then you ain’t doin’ nothin.’”
I use this example as one of the first tough decisions I would make with Granny’s advice. Gladys passed on March 10, 2013, yet her wisdom remains in my heart and mind. I’ve often wished we could chat during some of the most trying times of my personal and professional life. From the moment I began my career as a journalist Gladys read everything I wrote. Today, as a co-publisher of books and Davidsonlocal newspaper, I know it would make Granny proud.
Chatting with a do-it-all friend recently reminded me that sometimes “doing something” can put you in a spotlight in a way that’s vulnerable. This is a shoutout to all my quirky friends and those who choose to love and support us.
And for those who choose to hate, be patient, the best is yet to come!
Love,
Antionette
Antionette Kerr is a Lexington born business owner, author, journalist, publisher, rescue dog mom and national media correspondent ak@davidsonlocal.com
