The love of a grandparent
It started with a tweet last week from Cate, a friend with social media superpowers. ‘‘Phone call from my 90-year-old Nana,’’ it said. ‘‘Catherine, when are you coming home? I want to see you.’’ Under the words was a Gif of a cute cartoon character, eyes brimming with tears. Implicit in the tweet was this imperative: Must come when Nana calls. Grandparents are important. I had grandparents myself of course, once upon a time – and yet not really. Not in the way many people think of grandparents, as an intrinsic part of life. My mum’s mum and dad were in England. These were the days when international travel was out of reach of most. I met them three times – once as a toddler on a trip back to Blighty; once at the age of 10, their only trip to Australia; and once when, at 23, I stayed with them in Somerset during my OE. They were baffled by my wish to go travelling in Europe (‘‘Nothing to see there! Just stay here with us!’’). I knew my mum loved them desperately, so I loved them too – but abstractly. Those are the only memories I have of them. My father’s father was a lovely man (everyone said so) but he was much older than his wife and by the time I could remember, a kindly old man who never moved from his armchair. My father’s mother was – ah – not well liked. She had a strained relationship with her only child. She was angry, (or disappointed perhaps?) and liked to take it out on others. Less said about that the better. The final straw for me was hearing how unwelcoming she had been to my mother when she came, knowing not a soul, to Australia. No-one treats my mum like that and gets away with it. I do have great-aunt Valda, who has been a brilliant kind of stand-in. As a younger person I did not think much about the need for grandparents; you don’t miss what you don’t know. But that’s changed. Perhaps it’s my age? My daughter said recently, ‘‘I can’t wait to raise my kids with you, mum.’’ ‘Lordy, is she planning on moving back in, with them?’ I thought. I’m happy to take it as a ringing endorsement of my mothering skills, and I’ll be damned if I’m not the best granny ever, if and when the time comes. But what does that entail? I have no experience of it. So I took my friend’s tweet, with that plaintive-but-firm demand from her nana, and asked this: What is the best thing about grandparents, Twitter? In came the replies – memory after warm, sweet, funny, heartbreaking memory. Anika told me her Nana passed away just last week. ‘‘I had always thought I was her favourite grandchild but as we all reflected on her life we realised she’d made us all feel like we were the favourites,’’ she said. ‘‘Pretty special gift even if I do feel slightly played.’’ Paul replied with pictures of his grandad, a racehorse trainer all his adult life, proudly showing off his first pony, in 1919. He suffered a massive stroke on his way out to the stables at age 83, and died holding Paul’s hand – Paul describes it as one of the biggest honours of his life. Not everyone had a sweet story. Daniel told me his paternal grandmother was married three times and outlived all her husbands. ‘‘I used to call her the Black Widow. Not to her face of course.’’ And some had similar experiences to my own. SJ: ‘‘I only had one and she could be mean and distant. I see my mum being a great Nana to my nephews now and feel we missed out on that additional aroha.’’ Actor Michelle Langstone had none at all, but she did have resourceful parents: ‘‘My parents advertised in the local paper for grandparents ... The couple who answered became the most important people in my life.’’ Well, that made me tear up. So many memories, pouring in. Mostly, they were about the escape from everyday restraints set by parents. Georgina: ‘‘I used to have ‘supervised’ parties all the time. Nana would say ‘have fun, don’t worry about noise I’m going to bed, I’ll take my hearing aid out and sleep with my bad ear up’.’’ Jennifer Ward Lealand: ‘‘Granny would pick us up from Te Aro school, drive to Kelburn (in the Hillman Hunter) where we’d get the cable car down to have afternoon tea at the San Souci in Cable Car Lane. Fanta and a chocolate slice. Unforgettable.’’ Sometimes it was about appreciation. Katie: ‘‘The tiniest thing would make him (grandad) beam with pride. And sometimes when I was practising piano, I’d finish and turn around and he would be asleep in the armchair and I never once heard him sneak in.’’ Some were simply hilarious. Amanda’s nana was awarded a medal after fighting off a sword-wielding assailant. ‘‘My most enduring memory of her is mentioning there were ducks in her front yard and seeing her drop everything to race outside in her pearls with a broom and chase them off screaming ‘bloody f ...... ducks eating my impatiens!!!’ with a ciggie hanging out one side of her mouth.’’ Always, it was about love and memories. Mel: ‘‘Any time I hear the little music thing that they played at the start of the races on the radio I think of luncheon sandwiches because the 2 went together at my Nana & Grandpop’s house.’’ As a collective outpouring of love and wisdom, they all have shown me the grandparent/grandchild bond, and what it might take to create that in my own life, one day, if I’m lucky enough. But what of my friend Cate, and her 90-year-old nana? Well of course Cate jumped to it and booked a trip to see her nana this Christmas. The reply? ‘‘Righto darling. I don’t know what I’m doing for Christmas yet so we’ll see. I might be there.’’ NANA. Said Cate.
I’ll be damned if I’m not the best granny ever.