Wanda Crossland’s Legacy of Love

A story of one grandmother’s dedication to family & community

by Roger Enlow Hoopla Correspondent

Where did all the love go?

It’s a fair question in a world that has seemingly gone cuckoo when you see horrifying events on the television news or bewildering posts and videos on social media.

But the bond between certain individuals ... for instance, grandmother and granddaughter ... shines a ray of light in the dark cavity of gloom.

Granbury’s Beth Martin and her beloved grandmother, Wanda Crossland, could star in a sweet Hallmark movie.

“She’s the best,” Martin said. “She always makes you feel like the most important person in the room.”

That would be a task for a schoolteacher, but Mrs. Crossland, 91, distributed that trait in her 30 years of teaching second grade at Granbury Elementary School (1961-91). She loved all of her students unconditionally. Martin once taught school herself and asked Grandmother if she ever had a student she couldn’t connect with. “No,” was her simple reply.

Mrs. Crossland hails from a family of educators. Her father was superintendent of Hamilton County schools. Her brother was also a school superintendent, and she had nieces who taught in the classroom. Her other granddaughter, Brooke, teaches in the Round Rock school district.

It didn’t take long for Wanda Crossland to know her destiny. She was a junior high student when the school needed help in the kindergarten class. Wanda was the obvious choice.

Mrs. Crossland’s late husband, Willie Crossland, was also an admired Granbury educator, best known for his years as the high school principal. The couple’s popularity was rewarded with a school and road named in their honor.

When they retired they didn’t stop living. In fact, Martin said, they may have been busier than when they taught full time.

They volunteered at the hospital, participated in American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life and taught Sunday school. Mrs. Crossland taught youngsters; Mr. Crossland taught the oldest in the church. They joked that

“I can’t even imagine things we don’t know they’ve done,” Martin said.

For years Mrs. Crossland and her late friend, Aunita Norman, exercised most mornings by walking the streets of Granbury. They dressed in white so drivers could easily see them. Neighbors wished them a hearty “Good morning!” when they walked by.

Reality and television, however, is sometimes blurred because of her compassion. If someone is hurt in the movie –a girl, for example – Mrs. Crossland may ask, “Do you think that girl is okay?” Yes, Grandmother,” they answer. “In fact I think she’s making another movie.”

But she’s definitely “with it.” promotion from Mr. Crossland’s class was heaven.

One of Mrs. Crossland’s former Sunday school students spotted her at a Granbury restaurant recently. She told the table she enjoyed Mrs. Crossland’s class so much that she refused promotion.

Mrs. Crossland doesn’t walk as much these days, but she stays mentally active by playing word games such as Wordle, Words With Friends and Yahtzee. She’s in a group Wordle thread. “Ninety percent of the time she beats us,” Martin said.

She also watches television, but “she doesn’t watch fantasy,” Martin said. “If it couldn’t happen she’s not for it.”

“Her mind is as sharp as when she taught you in second grade,” Martin said.

Yes, I was among the many fortunate to have Mrs. Crossland. I can still remember us carrying our books and walking behind her in single file, marching from the old school to the sleek new elementary school that had air conditioning.

Meals from Grandmother are special. It’s true about being made with love. Martin would get calls from her grandmother asking if she had lunch plans.

“No? Then why don’t you come over?”

“Sometimes it was just a sandwich, but it was good because I didn’t have to make it,” Martin said with a smile.

Mrs. Crossland would have the family over for lunch after church, either meatloaf or roast. Martin can still picture bread rolls, covered with a towel, rising on top of the refrigerator.

She doesn’t cook much these days. She doesn’t have the stamina to stand that long.

A lost tradition, she writes sympathy and other pick-me-up cards and mails them. It’s those behind-the-scenes acts of kindness that make Mrs. Crossland such a joy. Such as when a lady at church needed rides for her appointments. Martin thinks her grandmother would say, “That’s what I’m here to do. Why would I tell her no?”

“She lives like Jesus. She puts everybody before herself, even people she doesn’t know.”

Christmas was special at the Crossland home. The Crosslands had only two grandchildren – Beth and her sister Brooke. “We got a lot of stuff,” Martin said, “and we could only open one present at a time. It was an all-day affair.” Codes would be written on the presents. Crack the code for $5.

During the COVID pandemic Martin had to keep her distance. “I had to talk to her through the screen door,” she explained. “I could not stand it.”

Martin has fond memories of curling up in bed with her grandmother and getting slow, loving rubs on the side of her face. “She’d do it right now if I asked. She still kisses me on the mouth when she sees me.”

Martin has a friend with a different kind of grandmother. The friend had gained some weight and her grandmother mentioned it one day. “Grandmother wouldn’t dream of saying that,” Martin said. “She looks at our hearts.”

A number of people check on Mrs. Crossland regularly, which Martin considers a testament to her sweet soul. One of the church deacons, Jerry East, is one of the faithful callers. He asked not long ago if there was anything she needed. “Well, yes,” Mrs. Crossland said. “My flower bed is a mess.” East was there in a jiffy.

“As far as I’m concerned she’s going to outlive all of us,” Martin said. “I can’t think of a world without her.”