Where Have All The Grandmas Gone?
Life is sometimes measured in milestones.
Graduation. Marriage. Children. Parole.
As we get older, our milestones age with us, even if getting your Medicare card is a milestone that does not have quite the same pizzazz as earlier triumphs.
As I am often told, the one milestone in life that is not overrated is becoming a grandparent.
Our new grandson, Remy, is five months old and I am learning the accuracy of that statement (I would post a picture of Remy but the internet is a creepy place and, besides, he is soooooo cute you would not get anything done for the rest of the day).
The other semi-universal milestone decision among grandparents is what to call ourselves in this new role, i.e., anything but “Grandma” or “Grandpa.”
That’s right. We are so excited to be grandparents, but don’t remind us since it means we are old enough to be grandparents.
What to call ourselves seems to be the main topic of conversation of any soon-to-be grandparents of my vintage.
“Grandma” and “Grandpa” are still quite popular designations, and the more traditional “Nana” and “Papa” are apparently the most popular nicknames.
But c’mon, Grandma means orthopedic shoes, loose teeth and Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies television show. Grandpa conjures up hearing aids, whittling and Grandpa Joe from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Celebrities will have none of it.
Goldie Hawn is “Glam-ma” to her grandchildren, Susan Sarandon is “Honey,” Martin Sheen is “Peach” and, apparently (I wish I had made this up myself but … ), according to Gransnet.com, Donald Trump is “Mr. Trump.”
Even non-celebrities are going with “Sweetums,” “G-dawg,” “Faux Pa” and “Grandude.”
G-dawg? With a straight face? Really?
Is it a Boomer thing? We have pushed our self-involved way through the years while ruining the environment for future generations so why should we quietly accept getting long in the tooth?
Yet, even though it is all about us, it may not be just a Boomer thing.
My father, who liked to remind us that he was from the “Greatest Generation,” went by “G.E.” rather than grandpa (short for “Great Ed” … don’t ask) and my father-in-law, also too old to be a Boomer, tried to unleash his inner Dirty Harry and toyed with “Clint” (hey, he probably could have pulled it off) before finally settling on “Pop.”
Following G.E. and Pop in their grandfather footsteps well, those are some pretty big shoes to fill.
I thought about being “Pops” until some inebriated guy on a stoop sent me into a deep depression when he called out “Hey, Pops” to me as a greeting based solely on my weathered presentation.
I have toyed with the idea of being called “The General” or maybe even “Colonel.”
“Mom, can we visit the General?”
“Colonel, would you like to do some coloring?”
Even “Bonehead” would have its benefits if only once Remy could announce in a crowd of other parents, grandparents and children “Hey Bonehead, can you take me to the park?”
I knew I could come up with something more creative than “Gramps” but not because it would make me feel any younger.
Yes, we are the same person inside and stare with bewilderment at the semi-decrepit visage looking back at us in the mirror, but let’s get over ourselves.
The only option besides getting older is not a good one and there is plenty of good stuff ahead of us.
In a 2018 essay, “The Ice Man,” Jill Lepore wrote about Robert C. Ettinger, founder of the cryonics movement “who thinks death is for chumps” and expects to be frozen and defrosted 200 years from now by scientists who will make him “young and strong and tireless.”
Robert, you are the chump! You were likely not strong and tireless when you were young and there are no deep freeze shortcuts.
Even Mufasa knew about the circle of life and he was just a talking lion (was that based on a true story?).
If you focus too much on the loss of youth then you bury the lede of this story.
We have our progeny over here!
Just as our kids are becoming old and obsolete so less able to help us program our smart televisions, they are kindly birthing a whole new IT department generation to carry us through our future technology issues.
We have little kiddies to play with, admire and spoil to our hearts delight and still make it home for a good night’s sleep.
Remy is crying? Hand him to his dad. Remy needs a diaper change? Call out “Hey, mom, a little help over here!”
Someone getting fussy? “Sorry, would love to stay but we have to get home and defrost our refrigerator.”
We are perpetual boat guests. Common lore is that it is better to be a guest on a boat than to own a boat. No obligations, no expense, no barnacles, no hassle. You bring a six-pack and you are a hero.
Grandchildren are the same. Without the seasickness (and hold off on the six pack at least until elementary school).
We get all the benefits with none of the work. Sure, we will be there if needed.
As Pop used to say, he would change a diaper if the chips were down - - that commitment literally backfired one day when our two-year old son sauntered up during a Pop babysitting adventure to inform him “Pop, the chips are down.”
Can’t dodge all the bullets.
Well, if I am going to be Pop 2.0 then some form of “Pops” or “Pop Pop” might have worked, but instead I leaned into my original gangster rapper persona and went with “Two-Pop” aka “Tu-Pop.”
And let’s be clear, I do not intend to take any flack from any Pops from the other coast.
Notwithstanding the standard issue eye rolls from my son, my daughter-in-law was right on board and so I have become “Toopy.”
Of course, all of this is really up to Remy.
As one of the journalists in the article above pointed out, notwithstanding her desire to be “Bubbe”, her granddaughter might pronounce her chosen moniker more like “Bubba,” “a name better suited to a running back at Ole Miss.”
Remy does not speak yet. I’m not sure why but okay. He is no doubt too busy working on some algorithms and writing in his journal.
So I have no idea how Remy may eventually mangle “Toopy.”
But frankly, no problem. He can call me whatever he likes and I will always, always, gladly be there.