You have five seconds. Name three superheroes. Go! Name three things you can jump on! Go!
It was just a simple, silly game I was playing with my grandkids, ages 8 and 5 at the time. Between the jumping around and giggling, there was hardly one question they managed to answer in five seconds. Until I asked this question: “Name three things adults do!”
And, my 5-year-old grandson rattled off, “Eat. Sleep. Look at their phones.”
And he still had two seconds left. “Look at their phones.” Ouch.
I’m big on New Year’s resolutions. A new year seems like a good time to implement that old cliché: out with the old, in with the new. When our kids were young, we took them out for an early dinner at our local café on New Year’s Eve. They could order whatever they wanted – usually a burger, fries and a chocolate malt. While we shared a meal, we also shared our New Year’s resolutions. I can’t remember what our pre-teens resolved for the coming year, but I do remember we all took our “resolve” very seriously.
My husband doesn’t like the start of this story. But, he comes around by the end.
For many years, we put up a large Christmas tree in the lobby of our family business. We decorated the tree with glass bulbs, strings of mini-lights and about 80 gift tags. Each tag had the name of a resident living in our local nursing home.
It all started with my dad’s trip to Germany in the 1960s. He returned with lots of stories, and gifts for his daughters. My gift was a Hummel figurine. Until then, I had no idea what a Hummel was, but I soon learned they were unique (at the time) and kind of expensive, especially for a young teen like me to have. I placed the porcelain replica on my dresser in my bedroom. It depicted a young boy looking through an old-fashioned camera on a tripod, with a puppy at his feet. I loved it.
Simone, the granddaughter who made me a grandma for the first time, graduated from elementary school (fifth grade in Texas). I know, an elementary school graduation might be an eye-roll event for some people. What’s the big deal?
School came easy for me. I hardly remember studying, although I must have. I didn’t get the top grades, but I was consistently on the B honor roll. Algebra II and physics were my downfall. Geometry was the worst!
School came easy for Simone’s mom, Rachael, too. She was much better at math than I was and graduated near the top of her class.
“I want to QUIT!” My fifth-grade daughter slammed the piano keys in a discordant chord she certainly didn’t learn from any piano teacher. “I HATE piano!”
We had been through this same pound and protest many times in the five years since she had started lessons. I’d been there myself when I was her age. But, with the perspective of years, I knew some day she’d thank me.
“Sometimes, my friend and I pretend we’re popular,” my 10-year-old granddaughter’s clear voice spoke into the warm summer afternoon. There was no offense. Just fact.
Her words stopped me. What? My just-out-of-fourth-grade granddaughter was worried about being popular? She wasn’t popular? I might have to march over to her school and…
What I really said was, “How do you pretend you’re popular?”
I don’t like to talk on the phone much. Even more, I don’t like to talk on the phone after supper. So, when the phone rang about 8:30 p.m. that late-December night, I was tempted to not answer. But, I also have an inability to not answer the phone. “Hello?”
“This is a call from the hospital. Your mother is in the ER. You need to get here.”
When my husband and I got married, even though we were mostly broke, we felt like we had it made. We spent the first four years of our marriage working as “dorm parents” in a high-rise at North Dakota State University. The job included a spacious furnished apartment, three meals a day at the dining center (that’s right, I didn’t have to cook for four years!) and full health benefits, in addition to a salary. The only expense we had was long-distance phone calls.
Have I mentioned I hate math?
“Fifty? I have to do fifty before I can go swimming?” I was about 12 years old. My dad was a banker and he decided my first job would be writing service charges for checking accounts by hand. It involved individually counting each check in a statement, then doing the math. A customer was allowed a certain number of checks for 50 cents, then 10 cents a check above that amount. Those little yellow slips went out with tear stains on them. It wasn’t fair that I had to work while all my friends were at the pool.
