"Granny knew about the greatest dream in the world, even when some of us have never even considered it."

Larissa Kaye Batten (LLbeara@aol.com) writes "Soul Food," a weekly column for SpiritSite.com.  

Larissa is a prolific writer whose work has been featured in several publications.

Sliced, slippery peaches. Sweet, sweet sugar. Secret, special ingredients. Eggs of course. For the Granny eggs, of course. Granny, so graceful, standing proud in front of her frying pan year after year, decade after decade, serving up her miraculous, delicious, scrumptious, love-filled Granny Eggs!

German-Jewish Granny, who lost most of her relatives to the horrors of the Holocaust, immigrated to London, then New York, at last Virginia, with not much more than dear old Opa, her London-born children, and her suitcases full of an indescribably amount of love.

America, the land of dreams and freedom, where chocolate wasn’t rationed and dark shades weren’t pulled down over windows on a world of bombs and bloody corpses. America, where kids played punchball and stickball and this ball and that ball and could eat oh so many flavors of ice cream dripping in the glorious sun. America, where New York City invited every language and culture and race and gender and age and anything or anyone at all to mix themselves up in a big melting pot of the whole wide world.

America, where parents fed their children French toast for breakfast and Granny’s children would have the same. And so would her grandchildren. And on and on. Only Granny didn’t have the faintest idea how to make French toast for her children, little Evelyn and Gerald.

But Granny had all the love in the world, and Granny could make anything from love. So Granny, while darling Opa sold his toys, made French toast the only way she knew how. With all the love in the world and a dash of imagination. Voila. The infamous Granny Egg.

Most Americans, of course, don’t know the first thing about Granny Eggs. Granny never thought about starting a business. Granny never imagined selling Granny Eggs to make herself rich. Granny didn’t think about investors and franchises and contracts and employees. Granny didn’t think about the American Dream the way some of us Americans do. Granny wasn’t thinking about making it rich off of Granny Eggs. Granny was too busy thinking about love – her American Dream.

Others of us Americans have a different idea about the American Dream. We were raised on 31 Flavors of ice cream, the Brady Bunch, Sesame Street, and new shoes even when our feet stayed the same size.

A lot of us Americans don’t know the first thing about losing relatives to gas chambers, bombs, mental torture, and other crimes against nature. Many of us Americans don’t know what a miracle it is to have one egg at all. Or to have rows and rows of chocolate candies to choose from when the only chocolate during the war came from generous soldiers who remembered the children.

We Americans who grew up with multiple televisions and different coats for different occasions made up our own dreams. We dream of beachfront properties, of houses for every season, of rental properties and model kids. We dream of Ivy League schools and rich resumes, of great claims to fame, and winning a million on the latest greed show.

While so many of us Americans picked out the right outfit to get the right job, while we shipped off our kids to private pre-schools, while we complained about book reports and term papers, Granny spent decade after decade cooking her Granny Eggs with her own dream in mind.

Granny and Opa couldn’t keep Hitler from stealing just about everyone and everything they had ever held dear, but Granny and Opa held on for dear life to their love. Their love for each other. Their love for their children, for their grandchildren, their friends, their neighbors, and on and on.

Granny never stood over the frying pan complaining about all her losses. Granny didn’t stand over the mixing bowl feeling sorry for herself or her husband who lost all his brothers in the war. Not to mention everyone else. Granny concentrated fully on perfecting her Granny Eggs, and she didn’t have much choice what multi-generations of Granny Eggs lovers standing by. Granny stayed focused on her dream while the rest of the country stayed focused on theirs. Granny made one Granny Egg of love after another, while the rest of us rushed on with our American Dream.

Granny was so frail in later years a summer breeze might have knocked her over, but Granny never denied her grandchildren their Granny Eggs. Even when her daughter offered to take over the Granny Eggs, Granny knew better. Granny knew her grandchildren needed their Granny Eggs just the way old Granny made them, and Granny mustered up any strength she had left to stand over the stove making her Granny Eggs. If she had to use a day’s supply of energy in her older years to make a single Granny Egg for a hungry grandson, she would do it without question.

Each time Granny slid yet another peach onto yet another Granny Egg, yet another mouth was ready to be fed. Fed with food, and fed with love.

Granny never went into business selling Granny Eggs. Some might say she could have been rich. Some might say she could have lived the American dream. In my heart, I know that she already did.

Granny knew about the real American dream, even when so many of us Americans have lost sight of it. Granny knew about the greatest dream in the world, even when some of us have never even considered it.

I know about my Granny and her dream. My Granny was the richest lady in the world. With the love she poured into her Granny Eggs, with the love she poured into her children’s and grandchildren’s spirits and souls, Granny was richer than most I have known.

Granny lived her American dream, teaching us all through the sweetness of her Granny Eggs to remember it. Granny, who lost an unfathomable amount at the hands of Hitler, showed us all in her Granny Eggs about the only dream that lasts forever.

The dream of love. Granny not only realized her dream, but she passed it on, and on, and on. Everyone who met Granny was touched by Granny. Everyone who ate her Granny Eggs went home happy. Everyone who knew Granny knew about love.

I am sorry so many of us have lost sight of the American Dream. I am still young enough, and old enough, to have grown up with a misunderstanding of the American Dream.

I have a great resume, an Ivy League education, multiple books written, a lovely, lovely house, a beach nearby, and closets full of clothes. I am grateful for all of these, but none of them have anything to do with the American Dream.

Granny and her Granny Eggs taught me about love, about service, about generosity, about selflessness, about family, and about gratitude.

Are you living the American Dream, my friends, or have you too lost sight of it?

When you pick your favorite outfit from one of your closets today, will you remember the little kiss a child gave you yesterday?

Will you remember the smooth peach atop your own version of the Granny Egg?

Will you remember the frail shoulders of your own Granny wrapped around your child’s heart?

Remember the American Dream, my friends. In this country we are free to love – if we so choose. This is our country, and this is my dream.

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