My grandmother was a storyteller. Our family’s story unfolded like a movie when she told it. My grandparents were born into poverty in a Kentucky coal-mining town. They moved to the big city of Chicago to find work. One took day shifts while the other took nights, working long hours while raising two daughters.
Her story always had a happy ending: They transcended their upbringing and gave their children and grandchildren a better life. I loved to hear her tell that story; I cherished its lessons.
My grandparents imparted other lessons: teaching me how to balance a checkbook, awarding me spending money for each “A” I earned in school (and encouraging me to save it). But I knew their origin story was special. It wasn’t a “walking to school uphill both ways” kind of story, meant to underscore their hardships or say we had it easy. My grandmother, Pauline “Polly” Huffman Thacker, wanted me to know where I came from, and to see the world as full of opportunities that were mine for the taking.