It is my peculiar lot in my good and compelling life to see as gray things other people see as black and white, to find confusing things other people find clear, to think about things others have no need to think about.
Being a grandparent is one of those things many people feel passionately about and consider the greatest gifts in their lives. For me, of course, it is not so simple.
I tried to write honestly about my struggles to figure out how to be a grandfather to a grandchild who lives hundreds of miles away and lives a completely different and happy life.
She will be 10 when I am 80. I’m just not sure how to do it.
Yet.
I wrote this morning that I am (finally) wrenching myself from the loving arms of my wife, farm, dogs and blog and heading down to Brooklyn to get to know my charismatic granddaughter better than I know her now. I am trying to figure out what it means.
I see that this makes some others happy and some angry.
Every time I write about my uncertainty, I get a scolding. I think I am violating the code of the Loving Grandparent, committing a new form of social heresy.
This was one of the first today: “Jon, stop whining, and over thinking, and rise to the occasion. My family is 11 hours from me, with severe health problems. Both mother and son. I travel a lot, to care for them, with all their surgeries, and chemo. I’d love to just visit, and play.”
Several others suggested I was being whiny and narcissistic by even wondering about how to be a grandfather. What was wrong with me? Just get down there and spoil the kid rotten, she needs me.
I wrote in the piece that it was time for me to suck it up and just get down there for a couple of days, but I didn’t show quite enough enthusiasm, doubts are not allowed. Being a grandparent is not something you think about, it is something you simply are grateful to be able to do. And what everybody else does.
I got a brisk scolding from a half-dozen irritated grandmas who didn’t approve of my vacillating about this. Since this happens to me so often, it got me to (over)think about my long-standing struggle over individuality and identity in a world where millions of strangers feel more than a little entitled to tell me what to do, and can do it so easily and for free.
I wonder what happened to the idea that we all make our own choices in the world, we are all different, we come from different places, different parents, with different experiences along the way. I think I respect that, I try very hard.
But I have never done what everybody else does, I often wish I could have, life would have been easier. As it is, I am learning to love me and the complex mess I can sometimes be. If Maria can love me, I can love me too.
I have a friend who passionately opposes abortions, she has always believed they are simply murder. I don’t share that view, but I do accept her as a loving and decent human being. She just sees some things in the world differently than I do.
I have always celebrated and respect the right of others to be different from me. I see that is an idea in trouble in our time. I am so proud of one trenchant fact about my blog. In none of the 24, 970 blog posts I have posted on the Bedlam Farm Journal have I ever told anyone else how to live or what to believe. That is perhaps the best legacy I could ask for.
One of my closest friends in this small town believes that President Trump has greatly improved the life and prospects of him and his children, he does not see him in the way I see him. We both agreed early on that this political difference would not affect our friendship, and it has not.
We don’t need to hate or belittle each other. I won’t do the rage thing. Has grandparenting become polarized as well?
I wonder why people can’t offer the same courtesy to people in other situations, even one as iconic and important as grandparenting. Aren’t we all different. Isn’t that something to celebrate? I hate the thought of living in a world where we are all alike. We are all different, we all have battles to fight, demons to run from.
I get weary of making this argument again and again, perhaps because I am wrong and it is hopeless, or perhaps because these very powerful technological tools make it so easy for other people to tell me how to live.
My struggle with grandparenting has little to do with my very enchanting granddaughter, I know we will get on fine. It has to do with my own problematic childhood, which was a running horror show for me.
Attachment is just not simple for me, and neither is intimacy. I am still learning how to live, and how to love. And people can’t love you if they can’t get near you.
Maria was the first person in my life to really break through, and I think I did the same thing for her.
But here I am, beginning to be older, with my pills and sore knees, balking and equivocating about getting down to Brooklyn to see my daughter and her child. Loving someone will never be as simple for me as it is for others. I get angrier at myself than anyone could ever be with me.
No one knows this better than my very bright daughter, I appreciate her pushing me along. Maria too.
Still, this is my life and I have to learn to live it in my own way, and I am committed to sharing my life, these questions and challenges make me stronger and more confident. Each one is a gift in its own way.
There is nothing that can make one stronger than defending his every decision. I am a lot tougher than I used to be. The woman who called me a whiner does not yet know what I know, and that is that we all have our struggles, losses and battles to find. None of us are free from the drama of life, none of us are spared.
I believe that everyone has it worse than I do, that is how I learned to understand the world.
For all the problems I have with closeness, I haven’t stopped trying and won’t. I am sorry to say I will just have to do it my way.
I often think of my unofficial motto:
I do the best I can for as long as I can. I have a lot of pieces missing.
Get ready folks, in a couple of weeks I am heading your way with a bag full of goodies.
And be careful what you wish for.
When I have opened up and shared with people over my 72 years, I have often wondered why some of those people considered that an invitation to offer comments, judgments, criticisms, and advice. Especially when I did not seek, or make a request for such things. It was neither praise nor support that I needed, but freedom to be. (If I needed praise or support, I don’t mind asking.) And it’s damn hard work to continue after the unsolicited and hurtful responses.
To me it seems that you are doing it a honest way. I really admire your honesty to your self and your readers. I think it is a good way to learn and grow. I wish you love on your journey.
Thanks Kris..
I don’t understand your need to let it all out on a public forum, and have trouble dealing with the aftermath. I’m the one you quote above.
Millions of strangers feel free to comment because you have a blog. It’s the way of the world.
Learning to just accept our comments, without feeling the need to shut the door in our faces would be nice. Those of us who choose to have an opinion, that is.
My childhood was horrible too. But that’s a story for another day.
Gina, thanks for the message. You don’t need to understand why I share my life, and I don’t owe you an explanation, that’s what writers do. If you don’t like it, I’d read somebody else, and spare yourself the pain of my life. Your comments were a bit over the line for me, I share my life, I don’t give it away, and I believe I have to right to respond to comments that trouble me. You aren’t the only one who can do that. We are not in a horrible childhood competition, and your troubles are not mine. I wish you well with them. Let’s move on.
Sorry you felt that way.
Reading your responses to my family nightmare was more than telling. I won’t be reading your blog anymore.
Gina, it sounds like a good decision for you. This isn’t Watergate, let’s move on, I hope you find a site you are comfortable with. I am sorry you don’t respect my write to reply to people who call me a spoiled whineass because I’m trying to figure out grandparenting for me. I don’t believe I give up my right to free speech because I have a blog. We are all responsible for our words. If I make you uncomfortable, then you are making the right decision for yourself. I have no problem with your reading my work, but that is up to you. I wish you nothing but the best. I don’t think we have anything else to add on this subject, you’ve told me several times how you feel about it. I am sorry you feel the need to pass your very real problems onto me and my life. You keep injecting your family’s difficulties into the life of me and my granddaughter, it isn’t that nobody cares, it’s that you don’t seem to see that this isn’t the right place for that, it just isn’t relevant. That is not a healthy thing for either of us, and I am glad to call that to your attention. I wish you and your family good luck and much healing.
I am not a grandparent, but I was a granddaughter. So I won’t speak to you but I will speak for Robyn. Grandfathers are very important to little girls.
My maternal grandfather died when I was only 5, but I remember him quite clearly. I spent Sunday mornings with him (everyone else went to Church) and he wisely spent that time teaching me to play cards. He owned a bar (I think honky-tonk was the description) and whenever I asked him what was in the big bags in his garage (probably fertilizer), he said “Money.”
I saw my paternal grandfather much less often, but I will always remember that he sent me $50 (a fortune to me at the time) when I was studying abroad. He sent it with a note saying “Don’t tell your grandmother.” That $50 bought me a Eurail Pass that allowed me to travel all over Europe on my winter and spring breaks. He died shortly thereafter. I am eternally grateful to him for thinking of me.
Nice message, Jill, inspiring and thoughtful…
I’ll second what Jill says. I’m not a grandparent, and will likely never be, and was lucky to have two of my grandparents through most of my 30s. My experiences with my great-grandparents were much shorter, but I still treasure them. I love having photographs of our times together, even if I was just a toddler when those photos were taken, and the sense of family history they provide. I like having some memories of them, even if there were only one or two from when I was a kindergartener. Each visit is meaningful.
Gray so expansive
Black and white is never enough. Gray so much more liberating.
Thank you. Peace.
: )
I’m the same way about intamacy and for the similar reason—childhood family trauma and emotional abuse. It cripples you and all you can do is “keep on keep on” as they say. Our grandson (age 5) is with us for hours on a daily basis while his parents work. I know he knows I love him even if I’m not that stereotypical granny. He says grandpa and grandma are his “best friends.” What more could I ask for. I wish the same for you, Jon. Just go and be a friend in your own way. Kids understand more than we give them credit for.
Beautiful and sensitive message, Marty, thanks for it..
I love how you share. It makes me think. I’m grateful.
I also admire your willingness to agree to disagree with your friend that has a different point of view. That is so rare today. I have also seen some definite tangible benefits from Trump’s presidency. Not everyone in the US is capable of doing a white collar job. Those are the people that are benefiting greatly from his attempts to stem the tide of undocumented workers.
Thanks Margaret, I think it’s in listening to people who are different from me that I always learn…
For the children and grandchildren of immigrants, I think the habit of detachment is ingrained in our New World lives. I saw my grandparents rarely growing up. I left home early and lived far away from my parents, my own children live far from me. Visiting brings up many emotions, not all of them positive, and negotiating the relationships that are charged at the roots if our existence is both fearsome and full if potential. The beautiful part of it is this: our grandchildren have no idea of all that has transpired before them. It’s our chance to just love them. I find I am in the same space as they are. My children sometimes full of judgement and expectation. Little do they know, but I am smarter than they think. And so are the kids. We can just enjoy that we are the recipients of the ones in the middle, our 40 something children who want to care for us in the only wats they know how. Enjoy. Sometimes our wisdom is by observation, sharing memories and making new ones. We don’t know if we are coming or going… But life is a great ride!
Thanks Donna, a very thoughtful note..I appreciate it..
Jon just take Robin as a gift and trust your large and loving heart. Just be who you are that is more than enough for Robin and Emma.
Thanks Susie, I can handle it..
When my son and his fiancee (they have now been married 25 years) told me they didn’t plan to have children, I joked, “I don’t care; I wouldn’t babysit if I lived next door.” I live two states away and have my own very creative life. Being my son’s mother was the joy of my life and he was my consolation for a dull marriage that eventually collapsed. But I have no interest in children now other than those of close friends. The beauty of not having grandchildren is, when I visit my son and DIL, it’s all about me–no one has a meltdown, and we don’t have to stop what we’re doing for nap time, unless it’s my nap! They treat me like goddess.
Some people(myself included) just do not have the parent or grandparent gene. It’s nothing to apologize for, it’s just the way we are.
I think the person you quoted, although she seemed to chide you, was coming from a ‘place’ of pain, and probably anger. That person’s reality is is far from what she wants it to be–that is being a grandparent that can visit, and enjoy the visit. The person travels a distance to do caregiving for a daughter and grandchild –she mentioned surgeries and chemo. I don’t think she was imposing her story on you as much as providing a framework for her comment. She’s not giving you her pain. Perhaps her mentioning that fact about her childhood was to try to relate. I thought your responses to her were very insensitive. I will still be a reader of your blog, books, and supporter of your causes. I’m tough, so you can ‘blast’ me if you want to.
Thanks Linda, for the thoughtful message. I had a somewhat different response to ours, I can’t presume to know what was in her mind, I could see she was angry and weary, I am sorry for that. But that is not a license to scold or bully other people or to inject her own experiences into mine. We are all responsible for our words, me most of all, and I have absolutely no reason to “blast” you and am sorry you would even think that. Why would I do that, your message was civil and thoughtful? It seems a bit dramatic to me, this isn’t Watergate, as I told Gina. We do have a slight disagreement, you and I, there is nothing wrong with that, it happens every day. If you read these comments, you will see I am challenged and disagreed with constantly.I don’t “blast” people, I disagree with them, there is quite a difference. I challenge the idea that people who don’t know me have the right to tell me how to live and what to write and I will continue doing that. But I cannot say what was in her mind, only what is in mind, I’m not a shrink, that is my job.You can “blast” me if you want…:)
I’ve been thinking about this and I will send you an email.
Linda, I don’t wish to waste your time, I think I’ve said everything I wish to say, and i don’t care to pursue it any further. It’s just a disagreement, not the founding of a nation..let’s move on. I don’t care to spend more of my time on it.