With my having no children or grandchildren, it was bound to happen: I sort of feel like an associate parent/ grandparent of my friends’ progeny. Not that I’ve been asked to baby sit, change diapers or take any young people to the mall, mind you.
This has been more of an armchair associate position. I dutifully read the emails and Facebook posts, and view cellphone and Facebook photos that my friends post about their children and grandchildren. I dutifully heed calls to pray for children or grandchildren who have received honors in school; are suffering various crises - health-related, job-related, otherwise - or are simply leaving for camp or an overseas exchange program. I dutifully listen and offer support as parents and grandparents talk, brag or vent. And, when I can, dutifully buy merchandise from co-workers who are helping their children sell school-fundraiser items or Girl Scout cookies.
I’m an actual aunt, many times over, with a seemingly endless supply of grown nieces and nephews - most of whom live in other states - with their own children and grandchildren. I love them, but don’t hear as much from or about them as I do my friends’ kin.
Some people complain about being made privy to the child/grandchild photos and updates. Not I. Bring it on.
Perhaps this isn’t just the childlessness/grandchildlessness. Perhaps my feelings - along with parents’ and grandparents’ willingness to share - harks back to the times we had those close knit neighborhoods whose departure I lamented in this space some time ago. Those communities that existed in the “it takes a village” days when all adults felt responsible for all children. Now that I’ve reached traditional grandmother age, there’s no close-knit community with children to help look after … and do so with full confidence that my assistance is welcome. It’s hard not to miss the days in which everybody was the neighborhood watch and everyone would have known every child wandering the neighborhood, even if that child was just visiting.
Those days are over for a number of reasons. But thanks to technology, social media and good old-fashioned face-to-face chats, I still manage to feel like an associate overseer of children and grandchildren … the Old Lady Who Lives Across the Street, if you will.
I’ll not only smile at the photos of your babies, I’ll show them to my husband, Dre, who adores babies and children, and coos and squeals louder than any grandparent would ever care to. I’ll read your updates about the handsome stepsons you lovingly embraced as yours. I will fret if your beautiful young twin granddaughters stare unsmilingly at strangers, and will breathe a sigh of relief when they get a bit older, go to preschool, become more socialized and can now be seen in photos smiling so brightly that you’d think they’d won golden tickets to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. I still have your stunning daughter’s pre-digital-age teen-pageant photos (somewhere … I know I didn’t throw them away). I still hope she gets to be a Mrs. Arkansas one day. When your pregnant daughter-in-law has to be rushed to the emergency room with complications, I will turn straight-up prayer warrior. When your little one gets pink eye, an ear infection or has to be rushed to the emergency room, I’ll do the same. When these doggone prospective employers refuse to see what a treasure your young-adult child is and give him a decent job, I’ll feel frustrated and fuss right along with you … and keep my ear to the ground for job and scholarship leads. And when I “hit it big,” I’ll even step up my associate position and slide over a few bucks when the child/grandchild hits a milestone. (This is the part of the column that will probably be best remembered.)
Until then, my dears, here’s my equivalent of a kiss, a hug and a cheek-pinch. Via your folks’ updates, I’ll be checking on you as I perch on my virtual front porch.
And you can email me at: [email protected]
Style, Pages 52 on 07/21/2013