Going to Gran’s and Granddaddy’s house was both an outing ripe for exploration and cause for an eight-year-old to yawn and fidget. My time see-sawed between my clandestine attic and basement explorations looking for treasures and mind-numbing, endless adult conversations. But Gran and Granddaddy adored me, chuckling often at my antics and grabbing me for a squeeze. As I cartwheeled through the living room, Gran was always reminding me to be a little lady. “Ugh. Little Lady? How boring,” I protested.