A funny thing has happened to my daughter’s children. It would appear that they’ve fallen in love with their great-grandparents. The older I get, the more I realize how unique it is that these kids should even know their great-grandparents, let alone have more than a passing interest in them. At the same time, my heart breaks with those who have lost their own parents, and I feel a certain amount of guilt that I still have both of mine.
I was acquainted with two of my great-grandmothers. They were both nice women whom I saw occasionally, but that’s it. I only recall them as onlookers at the edge of family events, and I seldom spoke to them directly, unless prompted. It would never have occurred to me to snuggle up beside them on the sofa, nor would I have wanted to spend time with them on my own, without my parents around. That’s why I’m both surprised and delighted by the fact that my grandchildren love to see my parents — their great-grandparents — whom they call Grandpa and Grandma. (We’re Pop and Nan.) Continue reading “Holding Hands Across the King-size Bed.”