Conversing With the Kids
“Did you have a good birthday today?” I
asked my 12-year-old grandson who lives
1,100 miles north of me.
“Yes.”
The reply comes in a small distant
voice. They’ve put me on speaker phone.
Everyone sounds as though they’re in the
Grand Canyon.
“That’s nice. Are you going out to dinner
or having a party?”
Muffl ed response.
“Oh, I see.” I have no idea what he said.
“How’s everything in school?”
“Good.”
“And what about your brother, is he
enjoying school?”
A slightly deeper voice emerges from out
of the depths.
“Yes.”
I long to hear more than a one-word
answer. Or a question? That would be novel.
“Why, Grandmommy, how was your trip to
Key West?”
“We had a great time. We had our naked
bodies painted and walked up and down
Duval Street. We drank so much we ended
up sleeping until noon and awoke with
tremendous hangovers. Thanks for asking.”
Sorry, not today. As I search for the
elements of a conversation in this
phone call, I wonder if it’s possible for
a grandparent to have a meaningful
discussion with any grandchild who hasn’t
reached 21?
I understand. I loved my grandmothers
– my only remaining grandparents when I
was growing up. I enjoyed being with them.
I remember them fondly. But I’m pretty sure
our conversations were as brief and onesided
as the ones I usually experience with
my family.
The obvious reason for this failure to
communicate is that we live in different
worlds. Try as we might, it’s diffi cult for us
to remember what they are going through
in their young lives. They certainly have no
idea what our life is like. And to be honest,
they don’t care.
A GASPARILLA MAGAZINE • March/April • 2021
Although on occasion they do speak up.
One grandparent recently told me about
her grandson’s response to a birthday card
with $50 in it.
“I was expecting $100,” he said.
Next year, the little dear is getting nothing.
Or so the grandmother claims today.
As grandparents, we talk often about our
progeny’s children, hoping they think of us
as revered sources of inspiration and advice.
Something should come from all our years
of experience.
The other day, my friends Marsy and
Ann and I were headed to the Sarasota
mall when Marsy shared the bit of wisdom
she recently passed onto her teen-age
granddaughter.
“I told her she should never wear sequins
on her butt.”
Ann and I nodded in agreement. That
sage commentary could – and should – span
the generations. It also reminded me of the
large woman I saw recently in New Orleans
who was wearing gold lame underpants
stretched across her rear. It was obvious that
her grandmother had not discussed the
pitfalls of exposing too much gold lame –
and posterior – in public.
“We don’t hand out advice in our family.” I
said, recalling that my man recently offered
to have a conversation with my daughter
about the dangers of letting her 21-yearold
child travel to Africa on a college study
program.
“I need to tell her that the area where her
daughter is planning to go to in January
is very unsettled, with lots of poverty and
joblessness. Those conditions are ripe for
unrest and crime,” he said. And he should
know since he was born in that part of the
world.
“Not a good idea,” I said. “I’m sure the
college knows what they are doing. And,
well, our family members don’t respond
well to unsolicited advice. Trust me. Neither
mother nor daughter would welcome it.”
I could imagine the conversation. My man
would be so enthusiastic in imparting