Are Grandparents Actual People?

Photo by Alev Takil on Unsplash

There is an idea that has been plaguing me for some time. I can’t quite wrap my head around it, so I thought I would put my thoughts down on paper. If you are reading this (and I suppose you must be), I appreciate it and I hope I provide you with some insight, if not entertainment.

But despite what all the writing pundits have to say, I didn’t write this for you. I wrote it for me, in hopes I could come to grips with the question posed in the title. You will forgive me if this piece wanders a bit, but it’s a stream of consciousness that has been rattling around in my big empty gourd for a year or so. As always, I will reread, edit, and rewrite multiple times, but I’m not sure what will change. It is, as they say, what it is.

Just over four years ago, in our 60th year, we moved into an over-55 community. I have written about that elsewhere, and probably will again. It has been the second-best decision of my life and we have enjoyed every minute. The age spread in the neighborhood ranges from 55 to somewhere in the late 80s. It seems as if we are all of an age, but it occurs to me, from time to time, we span an entire generation. That when I was 15, my oldest neighbors were 45 and that was really old. Not as old as my grandparents, but old nonetheless.

And my grandparents created the spark to this article. My memory of my grandparents is they were always old. But the reality is, in my earliest memory of them, my grandmother was 60 and my grandfather 70. Of course, that’s really old for someone six, but now, not so much. I guess I should explain why I only speak of one set of grandparents; my father’s parents. I never knew my maternal grandfather, and my mother’s mother was in and out of various ‘institutions’ through most of her adult life. I remember her fondly, but those memories are different.

As I am sure is the case with most grandparents, mine spoiled my brother and me constantly. All of my memories are of them doing something for us, buying something for us, or taking us for some special treats. I also remember me and my brother being pure hellions and probably causing them no end of grief, although, at the time, it seems we were just having fun. I don’t recall a single time either of them raised a voice or a hand to us. I just remember them as being these special people that made your wishes into realities. I could fill a much longer story with specific memories of the times we spent together, but you probably have your own, so just use those.

I don’t recall ever considering them as just, you know, people. I met various contemporaries of theirs; distant relatives I barely remember. I recall being around them once or twice when they interacted with neighbors. They even took me to church with them once. I know nothing specific that led to them not taking me back, but I can imagine I did something horrible or embarrassing. Probably both.

But I can’t remember them just being regular people. And that is how this ties back into our new community. We spend a lot of time with our neighbors. There are meals with them at least once a week. We play cards and do other social activities several times a week. Sometimes, it’s time just walking, talking and being together. I know them as people.

And even though they are the same age, I can’t put that in any context with my grandparents.

I’m sure they did similar things. They must have. As much as I felt the universe revolved around me, they lived their own lives. They must have laughed and loved, played and danced. They had friends and neighbors they socialized with. But not only can I not remember, I can’t even imagine it.

For the life of me, I can’t envision them sitting around a room, playing cards with their cronies, laughing and talking smack about who won the last hand. I can’t hear them saying any of the things we frequently say to each other, or even having an adult conversation. I surely can’t imagine one of them cursing. Well, my grandfather said, “Oh, Fuzzy,” a lot. It was years before I could translate that particular expletive.

They always say you need to sit down and talk to your grandparents before it’s too late. Get to appreciate them and learn what they experienced. Ask them about realities no one in future generations can even imagine. She was born in 1900 and he fought in World War I. They lived through Spanish Flu, the Great Depression, and four wars. So many things I could have learned.

I never did that, and now it’s too late.

But it’s not too late with my recent friends and neighbors. Many of them are in their late 80s, and while I hope to enjoy their company for years to come, I know there will be a time when we will lose friends. We’ve already lost a few.

So now, I guess I have a second chance. Not to know my grandparents, but somebody’s grandparents. Know them as people. Know them as friends.

I am grateful for this second chance and hope mam-maw and pam-paw are looking down and smiling.