“… I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith …which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois….” -2Tim1:5
My wife and I have totally different perspectives on grandparents. My experience was threadbare at the best, disappointing at the worst. By the time I was of age to take in and remember, only two grandparents were left; a grandfather on my mom’s side and a grandmother on my dad’s side. Grandpa was a rather reclusive figure who loved to fish but never took us fishing, who retired to a little farm I never remember visiting, and who was an artist and musician who never shared his gifts with us. My grandmother came to live with us not long after I started school. She was cold and distant, a bit grumpy, and soon beset by delusions of a relived childhood. We knew her presence only from the weight of her restrictive presence upon the family as mom labored hard to care for her and retain a victorious spirit in doing so. I did not realize, at the time, that anything was amiss in all this family dynamic. My brother and I simply did not know anything else. But there was an elderly couple that are favorably remembered. Thea and Jake were childless and quite old but were still fun to visit. There were treats such as milk and cookies, some stray candy, robust jokes, and even doting comments now and then. Somehow it was not robbery to have to steal moments from our play time to visit them. Their home was a warm and inviting place, and we did not resent being dropped off there for a few hours when mom and dad were out of pocket. Today, I have no idea who they were or how they entered our lives, but their names still evoke good memories as my brother and I had come to know that we were the gleam in someone else’s eyes.
My wife, on the other hand, knew her grandparents well for they were all the home she knew for the first 4 years of her life. That home became her emotional and spiritual anchor as they were her refuge amidst a storm of dysfunctional parenting. She learned a love for fresh cornbread, wilted (or “kill’t”) lettuce, the smell of fresh, plucked feathers off a chicken that grandma had just killed with a deft twist of the neck, knitting on the backyard swing, ever fascinating stories of deeds and kin long past, sitting together on the front porch rocking chair during a rainstorm, plucking and eating raw green beans out of the garden, and a hundred other endearing facets of simple, southern living. But most of all, she remembers being the apple of their eye; simply adored and treasured. Whether it was the words they spoke to her or the proud bearing in front of others, she knew the love that was there, that it was strong and real. She is still a sucker for a gentle rubbing of her hands, just like grandma used to do. Those grandparents were simple country folk but possessed a fountain of folklore, colorful expressions, and were lovers of Jesus that left behind a rich, rich tapestry of memories; enough to fill a book. They left such an indelible mark on her that she credits them with actually saving her from a life of bad choices.
Being a grandparent now gives me the opportunity to leave behind a treasury of memories. I have a unique role to play in this pageantry of life, and I hope I can do the part justice. I have opportunities to enrich the lives of my little ones in a way that only I can do. Moms and dads do their part, but who but I can play the special games the kids have never seen before, who can make the bottom of their piggy bank ring with unexpected and unmerited favor, and who but I can share a ride down the hill in the Nordmobile? It is that little bit of frosting on top of their cake which makes life sweet and memorable. Grandmas and grandpas can be such a blessing. If you have them, encourage them, treasure them. If you don’t, go adopt some. There are still plenty of Thea and Jakes out there for the taking.
