Being a grandma, delivering life lessons wrapped in love, requires a strong woman with a dash of silly
Before I tell you about the missing elephant and the injured bunny, I want to introduce you to my friend Maura Casey.
Maura, by her own description, is “a tough broad.” This could be because of her 35-year career as an opinion writer. Or maybe that’s why she became an opinion writer in the first place. We used to talk about this in the before times.
I met Maura when she was an editorial writer at The New York Times. For nearly two decades before that she wrote for The Day newspaper in New London, Connecticut. Later, she wrote for the Hartford Courant.
Maura never squandered the privilege of being paid for her opinions. She took on nuclear plants for shoddy safety practices; one of them closed, the others were sold off. She exposed sexism in all its forms and practices. She was also a tireless advocate for those who suffer from addiction.
Connie Schultz: Read more of her columns
After former Texas Gov. Ann Richards died in 2006, Maura wrote a signed editorial for the Times under the headline, “Ann R., Alcoholic.” Richards’ triumph over alcoholism “deserves to be more than a line in her obituary,” Maura wrote.
This one was personal for my friend, who is 35 years and seven months into her recovery. She is one of the bravest women I know. As of July 2, 2019, she is also one of the silliest. That’s when she became a grandmother.
This is where the missing elephant comes in.
If you've loved a child, you understand
One day last month, granddaughter Ellie visited Grammy (formerly known as Maura). When she left, she forgot to take along her beloved stuffed elephant, Ania.
Oh. No.
Anyone who has ever loved a child understands why this was a five-alarm call from Maura’s daughter, Anna. By the way, how this scenario has never been an episode on "Law & Order," I’ll never understand. Lennie would have been all over that.
A frantic search ensued at Maura’s house. Ania was where one might expect to find an elephant, sitting on a bench facing the pond with Ellie’s sippy cup beside her. Elephants must drink, after all.
It was late, so the adults in Ellie’s life agreed Ania should stay at Grammy’s for a day or so. I’m including this as a written record for Ellie, who may one day benefit from knowing this.
A few hours after Ania’s recovery, my phone started dinging. Maura was texting photos of Ania living the high life at Grammy’s house.
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Here’s one of Ania drinking tea with her mommy’s childhood bear, Ta-Bear. And here’s Ania cooking with Ta-Bear. Oh, and look, Ania is reading a book to – everybody sing – Ta-Bear.
“I’m doing this to let Ellie know Ania is okay,” Maura said.
“Keep telling yourself that,” I said.
During this same conversation, we talked about the spread of COVID's delta variant, the lunacy of anti-vaxxers and the latest round of efforts to oppress the right to vote for Black and Brown Americans. We’re still those columnists, those women, but we are grandmothers now, too. New job, bigger life. We’ve had decades to build our world and our roles in it, but children’s lives are just beginning. We can be there for them only if we are willing to meet them where they are.
I so often think of our friend John Glenn’s response after I thanked him for so respectfully, and thoroughly, answering our 4-year-old grandson’s question in 2012 about how astronauts urinate in space.
“If a child is old enough to ask a serious question,” John said, “he deserves a serious answer.”
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Teaching, one stitch at a time
If we don’t trivialize what matters to a child, we can more clearly see our role in supporting their expanding minds, and hearts. It may often look like play to us, but what they’re learning is a serious matter, indeed.
Which is how I ended up performing emergency surgery on a bunny named Bunny.
It started with a FaceTime call from my 5-year-old grandson, Milo. I clicked to answer and there he was, looking despondent as he clutched his beloved Bunny.
“He has another hole, Grandma,” he said, poking his finger into a side seam. Surgery was needed, we agreed. Again.
I arrived a week later with my emergency sewing kit. Gently, we laid Bunny out on the dining room table. I was flanked by two resident surgeons. Milo wielded the pin disk. His 3-year-old sister, Ela, held onto the seam ripper, just in case.
We talked softly as we worked, imagining out loud how much better Bunny was going to feel. “I’ll feel better, too,” Milo said.
“Because you love him,” I said, kissing his cheek. “Just like I love you.”
He nodded. “I already knew that,” he said.
Connie Schultz is a columnist for Paste BN. She is a Pulitzer Prize winner whose novel, "The Daughters of Erietown," is a New York Times bestseller. Reach her at CSchultz@usatoday.com or on Twitter: @ConnieSchultz