Off Your Rocker

The Essential Guide for Grandparents (Nancy Rosenberg and Judy Haire, Parent's Guide Press, July 2003)

Off Your Rocker

By Any Other Name

I am a grandma by default. Excuse me, I need to rephrase--I am a step-grandma by default.

Let me try again; I am part of a grand-parenting unit that I entered upon by means of a second marriage to my formerly widowed boyfriend, who has been my husband for the past three years.
If your reaction to this statement is that I am a slave to semantics, then you most likely are not involved in a blended family. For those of us who are, we know that semantics is either the path of diplomacy or the route to familial brouhaha.

I began dating Bob when his middle child was expecting her first child; his first grandchild. Jill and her husband lived far away, across the country. I first met Jill and her beautiful baby girl when they came home for a visit. Kelly was only three months old. By the time Bob and I married two years later, little Kelly was beginning to talk. She called me Patty.

Shortly after our wedding, a second grandchild, Ryan, came along. If one baby could steal your heart, two held your entire mind, body and soul captive.

Still, I was more than a little hesitant to insert myself into the role of grandma when I had no claim to the name. My heart longed to smother these gorgeous children in my woefully undersized bosom, which ironically reflected my credentials as a grandparent.
I took my concerns to my husband. I asked him how I should engage with the grandchildren without overstepping. I did not want to assume a role that rightly was reserved for another. Nor did I want to be separated from the love or the action because I was not a charter member of the family. I definitely did not want to be viewed as disinterested when in fact I was deeply invested.

I told Bob I yearned for the luxury of casual acceptance. The kind where you can lavish blatant, biased praise over the smallest achievements without looking like you're pandering, and the right to step in with aged advice of years and experience without appearing like a know-it-all blowhard. I coveted the safety net of ownership.
Bob's wisdom came in the form of a parable. He told me a lovely story about his paternal step-grandfather, Guy.

Bob's dad lost his father when he was only fourteen years old. His mother, Gigi, married Guy a few years later. Bob's eyes fairly mist when he speaks of Guy and Gigi. Gigi and Guy owned an ice cream store. (Who among us would not wish for our grandparents to own an ice cream store?)

Beyond spooning dollops of ice cream into Bob's eager mouth, Guy took Bob fishing. Guy baited and hooked not only the fish, but young Bob, too. Guy reeled Bob in with his kind, gentle, and loving spirit. They laughed, joked, and did "guy" things. The only name Guy ever held was Guy, but Bob's heart hears grandpa 30 years after Guy's death.

Bob's story was very comforting to me. I know that gaining acceptance as a new step-grandparent can take time. I can wait. In the meantime my love pours out into their open willing spirits in spurts, sometimes gushing forth, other times more measured, but always wholesome and pure.

Then when the time comes, and in my best grandma fashion--as all good grandmas do--I will relate a multitude of family stories to Kelly and Ryan and the nameless wonders of future step-grandchildren and grandchildren. My wish is that all the "grands" will be cousins-in-arms gathered around the sprightly little old woman (me) while she weaves her tales.

And the first story I will tell will be this: One day not too long ago, in a city far away, four-year-old Kelly was happily chatting to her mom when her mother mentioned something about Grandpa. Kelly asked for clarification; my grandpa with grandma, or my grandpa with my Patty?

At this point in the story telling I will pause to ask, "How do you like that? I am Kelly's Patty!" I will shout these words with tremendous animation by flinging my arms wide open as if to embrace the world, throwing my head back, giggling in delight, kicking my bare feet into the air and wiggling my toes. I will proclaim to all the children of the generation two steps down from mine that the possessive "my" followed by whatever name that comes to mind creates a glorious state of being.