An ode to Queen Pearl, the grandmother who spanked me once & spoiled me always

Queen Pearl with her daughters, my mother Joyce (right) and my aunt Renee (middle). Photo circa mid-1960s.

If memory serves, Queen Pearl only popped me with a switch once in my life. I can’t remember what I did, but I guess I deserved it.

For those who don’t know, a switch is a freshly picked stick or small branch from the nearest tree in your front or backyard. It can be girthy or thin, but it’s always long and limber enough to gather sufficient wind so that when it hits your hind parts, it leaves a sting that burns.

It was once a staple in southern child-rearing and was an especially effective deterrent for this city boy from Brooklyn, whose parents sent him down south to stay with Queen Pearl a few summers in a row. I never wanted to be on the receiving end of her switch, so I behaved.

My younger cousin, Anthony, was different. That mischievous troublemaker always earned himself a thwack, thump or wallop, usually from a switch, belt or hand.

But I’m not writing about him. I’m writing about Queen Pearl, her 86th birthday and why I’m her favorite grandson. (I’m kidding! 👀)

On paper, Queen Pearl is actually Pearline Brandenburg, the second oldest of eight children born to Johnny and Josephine in tiny Bowman, S.C.