My late mother-in-law
proclaimed, many times, that being a grandmother was the best role she ever had.
It didn’t take me very long, once I stepped into that role myself, to agree with
her.
It may surprise y’all to learn
that, as a parent, I was a world class smart-ass. I was! I didn’t consciously
become one, either. I think “smart-ass” was my default personality mode when the
stress of life—that special combination of children, job, husband, and financial
challenges—combined together and got to be too much.
Some of my zingers caused a
great deal of eye-rolling and moaning among my kids, but I have to tell you,
looking back at those comments even now, I chuckle. I realize that some of my
responses weren’t my own originally crafted words. They’re just the words that
emerged from my mouth when the moment was right.
There are a couple of instances
and exchanges that particularly come to mind:
Kid: But you SAID I could have
that! Me: I most certainly did not. Kid: YES YOU DID!! Me: (sighing). I know you
believe you understand what you think I said; but I’m not sure you realize that
what you heard is not what I meant. Kid: I don’t get it. Me:
Precisely.
Then, of course, there’s the
universal-kid response when you are trying very hard to get them to comply with
your parental will:
Kid: You can’t make me, because
this country is a free country. We live in a democracy! Me: This country might
be a democracy, but this family isn’t. It’s a benevolent dictatorship. However,
if you don’t toe the line and do as you’re told, the dictatorship isn’t going to
be so benevolent.
Of course, inevitably, came the
time when out of my mouth, despite all my previous vows that it would never
happen, came my mother’s words:
Kid: But why do I have
to do it? Me: Why should I keep a dog and bark myself?
Then there was my middle child,
who thought he was equal to his father and me—and he actually stuck to that
tenet from the time he was about twelve, for the remainder of his
life
.
I explained to him, gently,
that he wasn’t our equal, and never would be. I would never be an equal to my
parents, and he would never be an equal to his. That didn’t work. So then I
tried another way, and this one I’m pretty sure is original. I told him that the
world was comprised of us versus them—and that he was a them, not an us.
This was a constant back and forth between us during most of his teen years. And
then he became a father, himself. That was a humbling time for him, and I know
that at the bottom of everything he loved his children with all his
heart.
One day, he came over to visit
and he grinned and grinned, because, he asserted, he’d finally figured out that,
being a father he was finally an “us”.
I grinned right back and told
him, that no, he was not an us. He was still a them. He was always
going to be a them as far as we were concerned. But that baby of his?
That baby was definitely an us.
Grandparents and grandchildren
are natural allies against a common adversary, after all. I think it’s an
immutable law of nature. And being a grandparent is…well, pretty grand. And
because the law of sowing and reaping is another immutable law of nature, we
parents are given great rewards when we become grandparents.
Number one kid as parent: Mom,
you wouldn’t believe it! First this kid did that, and then that kid did this. I
tell you, I have the children from hell!
Me: Oh, don’t be silly,
sweetheart. You couldn’t possibly have the children from
hell. I had the children from hell!
Then, another time:
Number one kid as parent: Mom,
you wouldn’t believe it! I was in a hurry, picking up my spare pieces of lumber
from the kitchen floor after making that repair—and I nearly threw my back out
when one piece wouldn’t budge. He’d nailed that piece of scrap wood to
the kitchen floor!
Me: Oh, dear, sweetheart,
that’s horrible. Horrible! Your father and I never had that problem. You must be
doing something wrong. (A special note here. Number one kid is also a
world-class smart ass. He just rolled his eyes and laughed.)
Yes, being a grandparent is
grand indeed. I’ve been a great-grandparent now for three years, but that role
isn’t as hands-on fun as the simple grandparent role. In fact, I’m almost
certain I have the progression of roles finally figured out.
We are an us, our kids are a
them, their kids are an us…and yep, our kids’ grand-kids are definitely a
them.
At least they are to
us.
Love,
Morgan
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