The IMPACT OF MY GRANDPARENTS on my life
Over winter break, I was able to spend a weekend with my grandparents, and at one point, we all went around sharing memories from when all the grandchildren were little. I was reminded of the fashion shows and makeovers in grandma’s bathroom, picking roses together, the chocolate chip waffles always waiting in their freezer, playing the piano with my grandma, and early mornings with my grandpa in his big reclining chair. The coloring pages, glass marbles, and candy bowl somehow never seemed to run out.
One of my favorite stories and most vivid childhood memories is the story of the butterfly pin. When I was probably seven, I remember sitting on the carpet in my grandma’s closet as she was getting dressed. She turned to me and said, “I think something is missing,” and I knew I had the perfect solution. I had remembered seeing the most beautiful butterfly pin in her jewelry box before; my seven-year-old self had never seen anything more magical, and I was certain it would complete her outfit. I handed it to her, and she turned to me with a smile and said it was exactly what was missing. I helped her pin it to her blouse, and she wore it proudly the whole day. At that moment, I felt so special, like I had contributed something truly meaningful.
A couple of years later, we were helping my grandparents move out of their treasured home. I found myself in my grandma’s closet once again, and she handed me the butterfly pin and said, “You keep this.” At that moment, I realized she hadn’t worn it because of my impeccable fashion sense. The plastic, rainbow, and sparkly accessory probably wasn’t her style, and it didn’t exactly match her outfit. In fact, I even learned it wasn’t a pin at all, but a hair clip. And yet, she let me place it on her blouse and feel like the most important girl in the world. That little clip became a symbol of her love, of how she made me feel cherished in that moment and throughout my life. I’ve kept that butterfly “pin” safe in my jewelry box ever since.
While we were all sharing memories, my grandpa began telling us about his childhood. He told a story about being a little boy and accidentally dropping his bucket into a well when he was tasked with getting water for the family. He described how panicked he felt and how he spent the rest of the day hiding, until his brother found him, dragged him home, and revealed the bucket scandal to his thirsty parents. In another story, he mistook a bull for a cow, and the bull was not happy, kicking him hard and teaching him the difference between milking a cow and a bull. The story that made us laugh the most was the one where he went to school smelling like cow manure after spending the morning shoveling it, with no time to wash the smell off. His punchline was, “Don’t go to school smelling bad or you will get made fun of,” and we couldn’t stop laughing.
Even as we laughed, it was almost impossible to imagine my wise, successful, and inspiring grandpa ever feeling scared or embarrassed. His stories made me realize how much courage and resilience he possessed even as a child. By the time he was ten, he had fled his home because of the Holocaust and provided for his family in ways I can barely imagine. Hearing about these moments from his childhood made me feel so lucky to know him as both my grandpa and someone who led his entire life with resilience, courage, passion, and heart.
When my older brother was a baby, my other set of grandparents, Dee and Poppy, made a video of them dancing to kids’ songs, reading picture books aloud, joking with each other and giving my brother Zack, whom they called “Zacky Packy” in the video, silly instructions. I never got to meet them, but I still watch it from time to time. I’m not entirely sure why, but something about the music and their joy feels comforting and familiar. They set up a camera in the living room and gathered all of my brother’s toys and stuffed animals as the audience. Their playful energy, banter with each other, and carefully orchestrated setlist make it clear this was a labor of love. And every time I watch it, I can’t help but notice so much of them in my dad- his voice, his humor, his intention, his way of making everything feel silly and full of love. Seeing them reflected in him makes me think they are with me, too.
Dee and Poppy didn’t know I would be born a few years later, a granddaughter who shares their love for music, creating and dancing. I grew up hearing stories about them from their siblings, my great-aunt and great-uncle, who made sure we always felt their presence and love. They stepped in as grandparents, surrounding us with warmth, laughter, and tradition, from countless holidays with my great aunt’s famous chocolate cake to endless dance parties and afternoons by the pool. At every gathering, someone inevitably jokes about how fun and cool Poppy and Dee were, and how much the grandchildren resemble them, and for a moment, it feels like they are right there with us. From them, I’ve learned that love is eternal, and that storybooks are far more magical when read with stuffed animals gathered all around.
As I’ve grown up, my relationship with my grandparents has changed, but their presence in my life has never faded. I might have outgrown the coloring pages, but I now recognize that behind all those memories was an intention I was too young to understand. The candy bowl and chocolate waffles taught me that anything can be an expression of love. The stories, laughter, and videos taught me joy and resilience. The holidays spent together instilled in me that family always comes first and that you show up for each other no matter what.
Growing up surrounded by the love, support, and care of my grandparents, both those still here and those I carry in memory, has been one of the greatest gifts, and is something I will never take for granted. And thanks to them, I will always remember to wear the butterfly pin, eat the chocolate waffles, rewatch the videos and don’t milk the bull.