“It was the best ever.” 

“It was just terrible.”

For Jean Gates, my beloved Nana, there was no in between. Whether it was a meal out at a restaurant (she loved eating out), a flight on an airplane (most likely to Florida), or a new movie (she loved going to the theater), Nana never held back her brutally honest opinion.

Nana passed away last Sunday afternoon surrounded by loved ones, including Van (Bopa to me), her devoted husband of 75 years. 

To honor Nana’s memory, I’d like to share the best Nana stories ever.

Nana is my dad’s mom. My dad has a twin sister, Bonnie. The way Nana told the story of having the twins is that she arrived at the hospital in September of 1949 ready to give birth. They put her under anesthesia. When she came to, the nurse handed her a baby girl and a baby boy. It was only then that she discovered she’d been pregnant with twins.

Nana and Bopa liked to take us all up to northern Michigan to ski every winter. Bopa would lead the charge down the slopes, but in my lifetime, Nana never strapped on skis with the rest of us. That’s because years ago, she’d broken her leg when (according to her telling) the biggest football player you’ve ever seen barreled into her and sent her flying. She recovered from the broken leg, but she never went downhill skiing again. Bad things happened to Nana from time to time, but she always emerged with a great story.

Bopa served in the Navy in the South Pacific during World War II and he came home with a great knowledge, expertise, and love for boats. He always had a boat when I was growing up. The good ones are remembered fondly and the ones that broke down earned memorable nicknames. “Jubilation” was one such boat and Bopa unofficially renamed it “Humiliation.”

One time in Florida, around the year 2005, we were out on his boat “Really Movin’” (named by my cousin Daniel when he was a little tike). It was me, Bopa, Nana, my then-girlfriend (now wife) Stephanie, and Nana’s good friend Jean Wheeler. We were on a nice, slow boat ride through some canals and Jean Wheeler nodded off. Nana had brought a plate of cookies on the boat and was passing the plate around. I took one. Stephanie took one. Then, Nana tapped Jean. No response. She tapped her again. Sound asleep. Finally, she said, “Jean?”

Jean Wheeler woke up and said, “What?” 

Nana said, “Do you want a cookie?”

I assumed Jean would try to pretend she hadn’t been snoozing. Instead, she exclaimed, “You woke me up for a cookie?” I don’t remember if she took one or not, but Nana’s sense of hospitality always won out.

One spring break during college, my cousin Kevin and I visited Nana and Bopa in Florida. It was the late 90’s and we’d let our hair grow out more than usual. The first morning we were there, we came to the breakfast table and found two $20 bills and a note from Nana saying she’d made haircut appointments for both of us. Hint, hint. Nevertheless, we skipped the haircut appointments and gave Nana her money back.

My final story also involves me, my cousin Kevin, Nana, and Bopa. My birthday is in June, which also happened to be the month Nana and Bopa would take boat trips from St. Joe, Michigan all the way up north to Petosky. For my birthday, they’d invite me to bring a friend (in this case it was Kevin) and join them for one leg of the journey. My parents would drop me and Kevin off in St. Joe, we’d spend a couple of days on the boat, and then they’d fetch us in Grand Haven, Pentwater, or wherever we ended up. 

I was turning 11 or 12 on this particular trip. We’d stopped to tie up the boat for the night and we went ashore for dinner. It was a typical dockside bar and grill and we’d gotten a table for four in the bar area where they had TV’s showing the Bulls and Pistons playoff game. We’re big Bulls fans, but we were in Pistons country. The bar area was packed and everybody was glued to the game.

It was coming down to the wire and Michael Jordan of the Bulls was fouled on his way to the basket. The Pistons fans in the room groaned in disbelief that he was headed to the free throw line once again. A lady standing right behind Nana called out, “Michael Jordan’s an asshole!”

Nana didn’t hesitate for a second. She jerked around, smacked the lady on the arm to get her attention, and growled, “Don’t use that kind of language around my grandsons!” The lady wisely said nothing and began to inch away to another part of the bar.

Nana was a very proper lady who cared about good manners, so I know her concern about obscene language was genuine. But I believe that in this case, her sports fanaticism was actually the stronger factor. She wanted Michael Jordan and the Bulls to win and she didn’t want to hear any Pistons fans shouting in her ear. 

Her strongest sports allegiance, of course, was to the Notre Dame football team. She went to every home game she could and cheered on the Irish, standing and clapping to the fight song and giving out hugs and high fives after every touchdown. She always came decked out in Notre Dame gear: earrings, necklace, sweater, hat, and scarf (depending on the weather). 

That’s who Nana was. On the surface, she was a scion of impeccable manners and taste. But at her core, she was a furiously devoted wife, mother, grandmother, great grandmother, great great grandmother, teacher, church member, neighbor, friend, and sports fan. And she wasn’t taking crap from anybody.

I love you, Nana. Miss you.