I
don’t know if I’ve mentioned it or not, but I’m not yet a grandma even though I
have relatives younger than I am who are. In fact, the oldest of my brothers
has recently joined the ranks of younger relatives who are now grandparents. My
eminent admission into that club has not been announced though I’m clearly old
enough to join evidenced in the fact that my oldest is now married.
I
have also known for nearly a decade that my three youngest kids have classmates
whose grandparents are around the same age as my husband and I are. Not really
surprising.
I
can remember taking my oldest daughter to a mother/daughter activity at her
school one year. I was one of the oldest mothers there. Only one mother was
older than me, the one that was there with her youngest of several children.
Those mothers who were there with their oldest child were all still in their
twenties. At nearly 40 I really stuck out.
Since
I am so much older than my youngest children, I have had a few instances where
someone mistook me for my child’s grandmother. Once a couple of years ago Royce
had to have his new glasses adjusted and went back into the busy office without
me to accomplish it. A few minutes later he came out with a perplexed looked on
his face.
I
led him out of the building while I asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Do
I have a grandma?”
Well
that was kind of out of left field so I asked what brought it on. Apparently
the lady who adjusted his glasses had told him to “go back to your grandma”.
Then
just the other day he and I were again in a busy doctor’s office. This one was
so busy there wasn’t enough seats to go around in the waiting room. He ended up
sitting on the floor between the chair I was sitting in and the door to the
office.
When
we moved into another room, there was still a lack of chairs and he was, true
to his nature, complaining, this time about having to sit on the floor. One of
the workers essentially chewed him out for begrudging me the only remaining
seat, finally saying, “You have to show your grandma some respect.”
I
know I glared at the poor woman. “I am not his grandma.”
I
kid you not, it was the next day before it even dawned on me that my father had
his first grandchild when he was 38 years old. Now guess how old I was when my
youngest son was born.
Guess.
I’m
going to assume that you surmised I was 38, which is a great assumption. My
youngest was born two months before my thirty-----NINETH birthday.
Of
course there is also when my sister-in-law called to announce the birth of her
granddaughter she told me I was finally a great aunt and asked if it made me
feel old.
Sorry
no. My oldest great niece is an adult. In fact so is her little brother. Though
their cousins are still in grade school. Of course all of those are the
grandkids of my husband’s youngest sister. On my side I’d have to admit this
newest addition is my only great niece. Counting me and all five of my
siblings, said brother is the only one who is a grandparent, so far.
Unless
of course you’re counting grandbabies with fur or feathers, I’ve got a few of
those.
Smile.
Make the day a brighter day.
