The Greatest Gift I’ve Ever Received

As we move through this season of giving and into a new year full of fresh starts, I find myself reflecting on the most meaningful gift I’ve ever received. It wasn’t wrapped in paper or tied with a bow, and I can’t recall the exact year it was given. But I do remember, with great clarity, the giver: my grandmother, Rita Hytrek McWhorter. She gave me the gift of language and a deep love for writing, a gift that has shaped my life in profound ways.

Her home was a magical place, a portal to adventure and imagination. To me, it was my Narnia, my Diagon Alley. Every room was filled with treasures from her international travels—figurines, artifacts, and photographs that told stories of distant lands. But the real treasure was in her family room: two oversized bookshelves brimming with poetry, history, fiction, and maps of the world.

On cold Christmas Eves, we gathered in the enclosed porch at the back of her home, warmed by the wood stove. The air was filled with laughter, the smell of cookies, and the soft rustle of sweaters. We kids devoured pigs in a blanket dipped in mustard, washing them down with chocolate chip cookies as big as our heads. These evenings were pure magic.

But my favorite place was her small writing room in the northeast corner of her house. That’s where I first fell in love with words. The rhythmic clacking of her typewriter or word processor filled the air as she worked on speeches, short stories, and essays. I would sit behind her, flipping through her thesaurus or dictionary, waiting for her to finish so we could play a game or embark on an adventure.

She taught me the power of words and how to use them thoughtfully. We’d play Scrabble, and she even gave me extra points the time I invented the word edgability. When she asked what it meant, I replied, “The ability to live on the edge.” She laughed, and we kept playing.

She showed me that language wasn’t just a tool for communication; it was a gateway to understanding the world and a way to shape it. On our nature hikes, she taught me about birds, salamanders, and the history of the land around us. Her patience and storytelling opened my mind to new ideas and perspectives.

My grandmother was a writer in every sense of the word. She crafted speeches and autobiographies for politicians, penned short stories and essays for newspapers, and, at age 93, self-published Johanna, the story of her pioneering family. Through her, I learned that words can create entire worlds—and they can also make the one we live in a better place.

This love of language is the gift I carry with me every day, and it’s one I hope to pass along to others through my own writing and creative pursuits. For this, I am forever grateful.