Borderline Grandma
It started in the garage. While her mother was occupied with other important matters (finding a diaper), the two-year-old and I entered into an intense conversation. Within 30 seconds, she had my car keys and was calling me "Grandma." Within 60 seconds, I was running back and forth, trying to dodge raindrops and shut my trunk, but was called back, to silence the car alarm. All the while, the child was grinning and laughing, shaking my car keys, and saying, "Grandma." Her mom said she called anyone older, "Grandma," and I just sort of went with it. And despite the whole idea of being someone who is "older," I liked it.The holidays are the big time for kids. Children take center stage from now till the end of the year. Thinking back to my own childhood, like every other kid, we had lists for Santa, and dreams of what he'd bring, and Christmas mornings of the past just seem to all run together. "Christmas is for children" is the popular saying, and the commercials and programs on TV will reflect that sentiment. Our attention is (rightfully) drawn to those in need at the holidays, especially children. Churches will fill about the third week in December, when the children's programs are traditionally presented, some packing in more than Christmas Eve services. Wise congregations have blended the two, to bring in the two big crowds in one fell swoop.
I don't have children. And I probably never will. I'm OK with that. Generally, I get on very well with kids. I don't know why, but I usually do. I'd like to put it down to some great God-given insight, but it might be more of the child in me, or as others would more accurately say, my immaturity. But I've been in the same trenches as many parents.
For the past 20 years, I've been an aunt for two of the most important people in my life, and been a part of nearly every day of their lives. Even though I am not a mother, I've shared the same fears, dreams, desires, and frustration as a lot of parents. With my niece and nephew, I wanted to be the super auntie, the cool, fun one, but somehow ended up with my share of discipline issues, tears, runny noses and my personal favorites, "Auntie, I needa go potty," or "Auntie, I'm firsty," or "Tell him to stop looking at me! He won't stop looking at me!" or "She started it!" or "Can we have a sleepover?" and my all-time favorite, which only happens at the cash register, "I don't have enough, Auntie." I'd like to tell you I always made the right decisions, and have been the perfect aunt. I haven't. Many regrets dance in my head at times, when I look at them, and I foolishly let those thoughts cloud out the more numerous times that I was a good aunt, and I did the right things.
One of my major pet peeves is when parents tell me and other childless folks, "Well, you're not a parent, so you just don't understand." I do understand the special bond of parent and child, and wince when it doesn't exist, from the very same person telling me how I don't understand. I do understand that when a child cries, the only thing you want to do is move heaven and earth to make him or her stop and be content, even those cool-as-a-cucumber parents who will let the child cry themselves to sleep.
I've watched parents who have their kids enrolled in sports 12 months a year, and every kind of music or dance lesson, and think of my own childhood, which wasn't filled with a ton of things, save 4-H and piano lessons, and a lot of farm chores, done with my family. Some parents do it to take up every moment of their child's free time, as if almost in fear of spending time with them. For others, it becomes a positive bond. I once asked a friend about her kids' involvement in summer and winter sports, and she told me she and her husband decided academics and family come first. As long as the child enjoys the activity, they will do what they can, within reason, to encourage them and attend games and practices. "When it stops being fun, we'll stop doing it," she said.
As a whole, we can criticize those who don't live up to our own somewhat skewed parenting standards. Many folks need help, regardless of their socioeconomic status. However, I think we're quicker to dole out criticism than real assistance. At a banquet once, I sat across from a wealthy old man, retelling of how he evicted a single mother who had children with three different fathers, clucking about what a terrible mother she was. Before he turned her out, his parting shot to her was, "You need a chastity belt." Looking at him, and listening to him spew hate, I thought, "No, your mother needed one."
People scoffed at Hilary Clinton's It Takes a Village theory and book, but in reality, whether or not we are parents, we all play an important role in child-rearing, from small acts of kindness to life-saving roles. Recent tragedies from northeast and north central Ohio lead us to shake our heads and say, "How could this have happened?" In reality, looking at it through the eyes of the young victims, perhaps we need to ask ourselves, "How could we let this happen?" and more importantly, "How can we make this stop?"
I don't know that I have the answers. I do know that if we see abuse and neglect, or suspect it, we cease being caregivers and become life takers if we don't report it. I do know that all the money in the world won't provide the important things so many children lack: security, love and a feeling of self-worth. We live in a society with so much, and so many opportunities to help struggling parents and families, so why are we afraid to share our gifts and talents if they better the life of just one child? Why do we use children as pawns? Do we think they don't hear our words and see our actions, and won't repeat our mistakes? Do we think they aren't smart enough to reverse the roles with us now and with their own children? Do we think anyone who has a child should just automatically know how to be a good parent? Perhaps these are the things I don't understand more than anything else.
The other night, for the better part of an hour, my new two-year-old friend and I sat on the couch, while she continued to call me Grandma, and we played with little figurines and Silly Bandz. She fought off sleep and my efforts to get her to pick up the rubber bands, and just babbled to me. The time slipped away and before I got up to leave, I looked into her dark eyes and thought, "I have no idea what you're saying, sweetheart, but I'm hoping it all makes sense to you." More importantly, I hope that in the years to come, every Grandma and Grandpa she meets will take the time to listen.