 On The Line -- Issue 642 -- July 6, 2007  Online News and Views of Life in San Benito County with Herman Wrede Published by HollisterOnline.com -- Copyright 1995-2008 HollisterOnline.com
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On The Line -- Issue 642 -- July 6, 2007 Online News and Views of Life in San Benito County with Herman Wrede Published by HollisterOnline.com -- Copyright 1995-2008 HollisterOnline.com
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There is a special link between grandparent and grandchild that seems to have changed little over time.
My grandmother, my mother's mother, seemed to my brothers and sisters and me as though she was as eternal as the mountains or the skies. I also had a paternal grandmother but did not know her until many years later because she lived in Germany. Grandma Bailey could be both formidable and lenient, depending not so much upon her mood as in or conduct. If she sensed that we were trying to give her any nonsense she steeled herself for it. But if we were just being normal she was tender and loving. Then we had a wide latitude of tolerance and were fairly sure of her goodwill unless we grew careless and broke one of the rules of good behavior. She rarely reported our transgressions to out mother, nor did she spank us after we had passed a certain age. The knowledge that we had violated an unspoken but nonetheless real contract between us was punishment enough. Grandma did not brood or refuse to speak with the transgressor. She did not have to because he or sometimes she was in the wrong. The idea that Grandma could be in the wrong was unthinkable. She was never overemotional but we felt her love for us as though it had been etched in stone. We took it for granted, in fact, because she was our grandmother. If your parents, other relatives and grandmothers don't automatically love you, then who will? Grandma died at 83, a month after I turned 17. With my older brother and four cousins, we were pallbearers at the funeral. It did not seem real that the coffin we carried to the hearse held her body. That night and for the next days following, it kept occurring to me that Grandma was gone, that I would never see the familiar wrinkled face again that I had known all my life. My mother, aunts, siblings and cousins felt her loss in some degree but in the self-centeredness of youth I was not thinking of their loss, only of mine. In the course of time I became accustomed to the idea that she was gone. Every now and then, a sudden memory of her would compel a smile or sometimes a sigh. But whichever resulted I was glad that we had shared a good part of life together. In the course of time I married and became the father of a girl, Andrea, and twin sons. Alex and Philip. Andrea became the mother of a son, Presley, now 14, and a daughter, Tabitha, who will be three in September. Because they live in southern California I do not get to see them as often as I would like. In fact, it has been a year-and-a-half since the last time, when they visited Hollister for a wedding in the family. Presley has no trouble in remembering me but Tabitha, whom I saw first when she was two months old, then only twice after that months apart, has forgotten me each time. We forge a quick bond during the short time we are together but then she forgets me again. My daughter has issued me a standing invitation to visit whenever I feel like it; however, what with one thing and another I rarely get to Costa Mesa where she lives. This year, though, I decided to go and so informed Andrea. "You're going to miss the motorcycle rally if you come down from July 3rd to the 8th," she said but I told her that it would be worth it to visit her and the children. "You're coming then so you won't be around for the motorcyclists," she said, and I said nothing. So it was arranged that I take the Amtrak from Salinas to Los Angeles where she would pick me up. I chose the train because I am tired of the security measures that are necessary but still tedious in flying as well as the flight delays that have become more the rule than the exception. As it turned out, the train was two hours late in arriving in Salinas and 2-1/2 hours late in Los Angeles. The return trip was also hours late because of stopping for freight trains to pass, and to replace a car with a broken toilet. Upon reaching my daughter's home, she told her daughter, "Tabby, here's Grandpa. Aren't you glad to see him?" Tabitha managed to conceal her enthusiasm and peered at me from behind her mother. I largely ignored her but looked at her once quickly and averted my eyes. After I repeated that a number of times, she became more curious. Within a half-hour we were playing peek-aboo and the situation improved from then. Presley seemed glad to see me but he wasn't home much as he was playing basketball with friends and visiting a few he hadn't seen for awhile. He did confide in me that he had decided to become a professional basketball player after his education was completed, and I said I was sure he would be a good one. Over four days the family went out to dinner a few times and Tabitha more or less took me in hand. She sat next to me and watched closely when I cut my meat and buttered my bread as though she was anxious I did not commit a faux pas in public. At home she showed me pictures of animals and imitated the sound each made. When she showed me a cow, I went "Oink, oink," and she shook her head and said, "No! Moooo." After several similar mistakes she sighed and looked searchingly at me. At that moment, the generations fell and for a few seconds her look was that if my grandmother's when I fell short of expectations as she was drilling me in a math problem. It was a good visit but a little short for Tabitha and me. When I arrived home I called my daughter to let her know and talked with Tabitha for a few minutes. When I said "Mooo!" she laughed and said to her mother, "Grandpa say ?Moo!' He funny." |
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