I think we’re all guilty of it.
We have assignments due, clubs to check out, and beaches to visit. We make new friends, get a job interview, or come down with the flu. We get busy. We get caught up in day-to-day problem-solving and forget about the big picture. Somewhere along the way, the people who mean the most to us, the people who raised us, get pushed by the wayside.
From when I was born until I was around 10, both of my parents worked full-time in downtown Chicago. They were 23 when they had me, so they had to scramble to support a new child, leave childhood themselves, and chase the American dream, all through the vessel of corporate America. My grandma, on the other hand, was a part-time retiree who lived 6 houses away, so I spent much of my early childhood with her. Besides just taking care of me, she was always coming up with fun crafts and activities for us to do together. On any given day, we could be found picking up walnuts in the backyard, painting her dog’s nails, taking the train to Navy Pier, or making reindeer out of old wine corks. As the first granddaughter, I was also given “grandma name” rights. At around a year old, I named her “Lala,” a phonological simplification of her real name, which is Loni. We were attached at the hip.
When I got older, my family moved from our Chicago bungalow to a cookie-cutter house in the suburbs, down the block from Lala. We visited my grandma almost every weekend. She was an ever-present part of my childhood. When I was seven, we started going to a dude ranch in Michigan for about a week every summer to go horseback riding. This was the joy of my childhood. Among other ridiculously utopic experiences, we were always galloping through a picturesque forest or going on nature walks to pick berries. We always stayed in the same few cabins, ate at the same few restaurants, and rode the same 30 or so horses. In my chaotic and unstable childhood, the ranch was the constant I needed.
Almost all of the most magical parts of my childhood involved my grandma and her endless ideas for fun activities. But somewhere along the way (likely because of my teenage angst and total rejection of all authority figures), I prioritized hanging out with my grandma less and less. To be candid, I was caught up in the trauma of my childhood and trying to identify the perpetrators. “Who can I trust?” was a regular entry in my high school journal. In the process, I isolated myself from my family. I was so focused on healing, on getting 100% better before I reintroduced myself to the world. I was obsessed with the time that was taken from me, but I was losing more time obsessing over it.
Now, as a 20-year-old college student living 2000 miles away from her, I’m once again overwhelmed by the time lost with my grandma. I feel an immense debt to her, a combination of all she’s done for me and all the years I spent drifting away from her. I’m overwhelmed by the stories she must have, and how few I’ve really asked about. I’m paralyzed by all the calls I should have already made. So when I was pitching an article a few weeks ago, I decided to interview my grandma.
I told her I was working on a project, and called her on a Wednesday after one of my classes.
I wanted to do it right. When I do end up calling my grandma, I almost always end up talking about myself the whole time. As a college student, I’m always excited to share something, from getting an A on a midterm to seeing a turkey outside my window. But it had been 2 months since I talked to her, and I wanted to be a good listener. I chose 10 questions from the internet to ask her, and mustered up the courage to schedule a day. I was well on my way to becoming the granddaughter I always knew I could be.
When she picked up, she was on a drive with my grandpa, trying to find a spot in their neighborhood to see the Northern Lights (side note: the beach patrol kicked them out because it was past sundown, which was teenager-y and adorable). We talked for about half an hour, and I’m so glad we did. Here are a few highlights I transcribed from the interview (including a few notes from my grandpa, who my family calls Papa):
What song transports you back to being a teenager?
Lala: Something Elton John, probably. What is that song? Wing, something? Something about a wing?
Papa: Our song.
Lala: Our song? Yeah, that’s good.
What was your first date with Papa like?
Oh, we went to see Jaws, that was fun. We sat in the front row because that was the only seat left. You don’t really want to sit in the front row, though, because it’s really scary.
What is your favorite aspect of being a grandparent?
There’s less stress to be a grandparent, most of the time anyway. When you have kids, you work. I worked full-time when I had kids, so I didn’t have much time. But when you guys were born, I was working 3 days a week, and eventually it kept dropping until I retired. So now I have all the time in the world. I like taking you guys for different experiences, like on the train. It’s more fun because you don’t have the responsibility of providing.
What’s your favorite memory of us spending time together?
Lala: All the laughter. All the jokes, doing the puzzles. The ranch.
Papa: How about me? I always stayed up way later than you guys.
Lala: But we laughed. We always laughed about something stupid. And when one person would laugh…Actually, no, the best memory of you is when you were little, like you were under a year or under two years at least, and we would do something. And I would laugh, and then you would laugh, and then I would laugh, and then you would laugh, and we would go on for like 5 minutes, which is the best thing! It’s like we couldn’t stop laughing, neither one of us.
~
After interviewing her, I remembered why we call our loved ones in the first place. It’s not because we owe them something for raising us, though that’s a consideration too. It’s not because we heard someone say “call your grandma,” and we want to assuage our guilt. And it’s not because we need their advice, though it’s probably exactly what we need to hear.
It’s because we love them. And when you love someone, you call them, even when you’re scared.
To Lala:
I love you, and I promise to call.