Remembering

Paul wrote a new song. It’s called Where Does the Time Go? In it he writes "It seems like yesterday I held a little hand. But it’s been so long and I just don’t understand.”

This weekend we took care of Stella and Oscar while their parents were away. We had plans, and they had plans too. We needed to consider it all.

For Stella and Oscar, Saturday morning is all about television. Paul and I strategize about how we could accommodate their love for television and still get them to their skating lessons in time.

“Hey guys, can we talk?” was the question we asked as we walked into the room to find them stretched, face down in front of the screen.

“We need to leave the house by 9:45 to make sure we get Oscar to his skating lesson on time. Before that we have to have breakfast and get dressed. We figure you could probably have enough time for another ½ hour of television. Then we’ll call you to get moving.”

Stella’s response was immediate. “Okay”, she said. Oscar came around later, as he often does with Stella’s influence.

Being a grandparent is not the same as being a parent! Paul and I have raised 7 children and we think our ‘children’ are pretty incredible people as grown ups.

In our house, we co-parented. We carefully planned together first, what ever needed to be planned, and anticipated possible outcomes, so we could be ready with appropriate responses.

“Let’s agree that there are no treats before tonight’s dinner.”

“Maybe we could let Josh stay out until 1:00 a.m. this Saturday night. And one of us will pick him up at the subway”

“Julia wants to go to a concert on Wednesday night. That’s a school night. What do you think?”

“What should we do if Lindsay throws a fit about not being allowed to stay out until 3;00 am thid weekend before a exam?”.”

As a grandparent the added participation of the parents can complicate best laid plans, and it is often unpredictable what the outcomes might be. It’s harder to anticipate, and certainly more challenging to guarantee consequences. Though we can show disappointment and sadness, we can’t send the children to their room or prevent them from playing with a friend.

As grandparents, the consequences become more natural. If Stella is rude, I can get upset. I might even choose to stay away from her for some time. It is our talking together that becomes the intentional learning opportunity. I find, as a grandmother some of the rules have changed. What used to be so simple and obvious now has to be filtered through the parents. And we don’t always see things the same way. We often have differing methods of dealing with situations that arise.

One thing is for sure though…watching Stella and Oscar skate this morning, transported me back to the days when I watched their dad, Jonathan, and Uncle Philip skate during their hockey games. The arena was directly across the street from our apartment building on Goldfinch Ave. Every Saturday and Sunday mornings, (sometimes as early as 5:30!) we lugged their duffle bags full of hockey equipment to the game. Philip still insists I ‘made’ him carry the bag all alone, but I clearly remember sharing the burden half/half.

I watched them play on the ice, week after week.

Neither kid, not Jonathan nor Philip, seemed particularly interested in being there. From the looks of their rhythmical gliding, and the dancing of their arms, and the occasional glance up onto the ceiling, it sometimes seemed that they would rather be at home writing poetry.

The excitement came if (and when) their team won, and one of the parents bought everyone a coke. I don’t remember ever buying the coke! I do remember the only goal either one ever succeeded at achieving. Philip scored one goal in all his years of hockey. Unfortunately it was in his own team’s net!

This morning brought me back to then. The times are changed some, but things still are really the same. Stella, more interested in the chocolate chip cookie and hot chocolate, tolerates the ½ hour skating lesson, because by the end she knows she’ll be eating!

Oscar skates back and forth, following the rest of his class, all of whom are appropriately dressed in figure skaters skirts and sequins. Back and forth, back and forth he skates, slowly, leisurely, with a sense of relaxation and ease. Occasionally he gets a lift between his teacher's knees. And as I watch him carefully, I swear I can hear the poetry that he is creating as he glides.