Natalie Whatley

In a few short weeks you’re likely to find me railing against holidays. The big, over-commercialized ones are around the corner. Retailers make certain I’m aware far earlier than I find necessary. Annoyed, I look away. Some would say it’s a form of denial, but I prefer to think of it as thumbing my nose at the ridiculous.

That said, today is a special day and one that I’ve never allowed to go unnoticed here in my little corner of the paper. Today —the first Sunday after Labor Day, and as presidentially proclaimed in 1978—is Grandparents Day.

I walk a fine line here in that I know if I continue to build this one up, the retailers will come. But this is one I feel doesn’t get enough recognition.

When I think of the word grandparent, I hear emphasis on the grand. That sentiment increases when one can add great in front of it, and I was fortunate enough to have had great-grandparents far enough into my life that I have many fond memories of them: The funniest being that I called my great-grandfather “granddaughter” until I was well into my teens.

I started calling him that as a toddler and no one ever corrected me (that I can remember). It took my Aunt Bonnie, who is only five years my senior and known for telling things like they are, to set me straight. Yes, I was embarrassed. But, hey, I still love “Granddotter” (that’s how it was spelled in my misinformed-by-omission mind), the late Johnnie Spaulding, and think of his ever-so-sweet coin-doling self frequently.

As I move down the family tree and remember those I’ve lost, I’m happy to report that I still have “Granddotter’s” daughter, my grandmother. She recently moved to town, and some of you may have met her: Ruby Watson. If you know her already, you no doubt see where I get the fiery spunk that stays hidden beneath a genteel exterior. (We’re those publicly quiet types who surprise people with what we say when we decide to speak.)

Then I get to my children’s grandparents. It’s hard to know where to begin with this bunch. As I think of them and their contributions the thought of “where would we be without them?” is what repeatedly surfaces. These folks have come to the rescue countless times.

They talked me down from the parenting ledge during many instances when I struggled to survive their darling grandbabies. And on those days when I thought I’d snap, they graciously swooped in and carted off my offspring for days of spoiling. That was always a win-win.

The kids always had a great time under the doting glow of patient people who thought they could do no wrong, the grandparents got to enjoy some mostly-not-responsible-for-the-daily-grind kid fun, and I regained a shred of sanity. Not one of my children recognizes how much they owe their very lives to these people. Recall that I’ve spoken of why animals eat their young.

Many thanks and Happy Grandparents Day to those of you who make life grand!

© 2010 Natalie Whatley

Sunday is a special day to be celebrated and remembered; it’s Grandparents Day. Recall last year I mentioned there was some controversy over how to punctuate the holiday. I’ll use the form I found to be correct, but know there are disagreements. I’m beginning to wonder if there is anything we as human beings can collectively agree upon. That’s a topic for another day.

I wasn’t much on celebrating the holiday in the past because, while I’m a strong proponent of capitalism and free markets, I thought the whole thing was cooked up by greeting card companies. I’m not too proud to admit I was wrong.

It all started with Marian McQuade. She lobbied in the 70s to have the day officially recognized “to honor grandparents, to give grandparents an opportunity to show love for their children’s children, and to help children become aware of the strength, information, and guidance older people can offer.” All the grandparents I know certainly fit the bill, and they’re a versatile bunch as well – help is needed in different ways at different times. But best of all, grandparents provide countless children a soft place to fall.  

As I traverse the teen years – again (first time was hard enough, now I get three more trips) – with my children, their grandparents act as the buffers.  They help me put things in perspective, remind me what I was like at that age (they enjoy that a bit too much), and dispense the “this too shall pass” pep talk. I almost always feel better – doubly so if said child hangs out at their house, otherwise known as “the buffer zone”,  putting some much needed distance between me and the issue of the day.

My kids are blessed beyond words to have people in their lives who love them unconditionally (like I do) and aren’t jaded (like I am) by what I call the daily grind: homework, dirty clothes all over the bathroom and beyond, wet towels (my archenemy and biggest pet peeve) strewn about, and my supposed nagging over menial tasks that I’d not mention again if someone would just do them.  (The laughter you hear is my mother, Linda Rowe.  Before she does it for me, I’ll admit my room was atrocious. And the bathroom I shared with two brothers . . . let’s just not go there.)

The above brings me to where I shared my subject matter for this week with my middle child. While I know exactly what made my grandparents so dear to me, I wanted to hear his thoughts. “They’re nicer. They’re more fun. They like to do things kids enjoy – you don’t sit for hours and play video games with me or stay at the shooting range all day. They buy me nice things for no reason.” Dagger to my heart.  I was almost moved to tears before I remembered his grandparents are not the same people who raised me.

Sure, I have great memories of all sorts of things I did with my parents growing up. But, like me, they were stuck in that daily grind and all that entailed getting me to adulthood in one piece.  And to be honest, it’s their demeanor now that keeps me clawing my way back to sanity. One day, and I’m in no particular hurry, it will be my turn.

I cherish the thought of giving a seasoned “this too shall pass” speech. I may even snicker when it’s over. And the very best part: I’ll be able to loosen my stance and be some little do-no-wrong cherub’s soft place to fall.

Many thanks to all the grandparents who continually cushion the blows . . . the world would be a much harder place without you.   

© 2009 Natalie Whatley   

Happy Grandparents Day to all fortunate enough to hold the title. I know some of you will notice the lack of an apostrophe; my non-usage is technically correct. Like everything else these days, there is some controversy on whether it’s “Grandparents Day”, “Grandparent’s Day”, or “Grandparents’ Day”. I’m going with what’s on the official U.S. Proclamation signed by President Jimmy Carter back in 1978. I realize many question whether or not he got things right, but that’s another discussion for another day.

The first Sunday following Labor Day is set aside “to honor grandparents, to give grandparents an opportunity to show love for their children’s children, and to help children become aware of the strength, information, and guidance older people can offer.” Marian McQuade, who lobbied in the 70’s to have the day officially recognized, is credited as the founder of the holiday. The purpose of her mission:  to show how senior citizens add remarkable facets to young lives by stepping up to the pass-on-the-wisdom plate.  I always thought Hallmark was responsible for getting this one started.  Now I feel a little guilty for not celebrating in a more grandiose fashion – apologies to my children’s grandparents.

In the human realm, it’s often said that grandchildren are God’s reward for allowing children to reach adulthood. Parents of teenagers know exactly why some in the animal kingdom eat their young, and while I’m in the thick of learning that using some restraint now will have benefits later, there are days I “get it” all too well. Pass the ketchup, please.  

Scientists are baffled by what’s called filial cannibalism (the eating of one’s own offspring), but after various studies have reached the conclusion that it most likely occurs when an animal senses a particular youth will take longer than others to reach independently-functioning maturity.  Humans have a problem in that adulthood seems to be pushing to an older age.  I’m not sure I’ll make it without at least a snack along the way.

Sixteen years of parenting has caused me to thoroughly ponder the popular grandparent statement, “If I had known how much fun grandchildren would be, I would’ve had them first.” My respectful rebuttal to my own parental figures is that had I known you’d be so much fun when you became grandparents, I would’ve finagled some sort of deal with the Big Guy to send me down a little later.

I’m frequently told how grandparents are way cooler than parents. Duh! I hope the grandparents appreciate the parents keeping up the charade; I know for a fact they weren’t the money dispensing, agreeable sort they are now. I often relish the idea of bursting that bubble. I refrain because I know one fine day it will all come full circle, and it will be my turn.

Many of us raise children in the hopes of seeing those children to a better place. From where I am now, my children are actually going to see me to a better place…a place I couldn’t have reached without them or their grandparents. Grandparents: Thanks for your many contributions. I don’t know where we’d be without you.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley