Grandparenting

It has been awhile since last this space was used, but time flies quickly for grandparents who are confused. Summertime is for children and grandparents, not for blogs.

Grandparenting

Somewhere in the hall of fame for strange critters, the grandparent must have a place. He or she feels responsible for the little darlins while enjoying the realization that the situation is generally temporary. The hall of fame has several categories of grandparents; so for the edification of those who have yet to experience one of life’s final ironies, the following enumeration of their characteristics is offered.

The all-permissive grandparent may be either male or female, but the entire idea behind being permissive is to allow the grandchild/ren to go home and tell the parents that ANYTHING is permissible at Granddad’s or Grandmother’s house. Candy, late hours, bouncing on the bed in the back bedroom, coffee in the morning with the grandparents, just about anything not allowed at home is allowed by these grandparents. We won’t go into the reasoning behind this kind of grandparenting because some mothers and fathers feel that an insidious—if not vicious—delight is expressed when their children are allowed non-standard child fare or activities.

The “we will buy it for you” grandparents may be about the most dangerous type in existence. Children who inherit this type of grandparent will have considerable difficulty in learning to value doing things the hard way or earning their own treasures. Parents who must deal with the grandparents must find a way to manage their frustrations and their children at the same time. Only if the grandparents can be persuaded to invest in long-term values like education or real properties will the goodness of their intentions have worth to the grandchildren or parents.

The most blessed children are those who have grandparents who will share their stories of growing up and a history of their own family. Children don’t see themselves as their parents do, so a grandparent’s memories can shed insight upon both the child and the grandchild when traditions are involved. The story about the daughter asking her mom why she always cut the roast edges off before putting it all in the pan illustrates one of the funnier traditions. The mother couldn’t tell her daughter why she cut the roast up in that way except that she always had seen HER mother do it that way. The mother called the great grandmother and asked her why she cut the roast up before putting it in the pot. The answer was simple: HER pot was not big enough for the full roast to spread out.

Our parents knew us as children. Their memories bear repeating for all concerned. We had grandchildren before we ever heard of the term ADHD, but now we understand why our parents thought their children were scatter-brained and never still. And believe it or not, we were well-behaved, good children. But the world we lived in had very little resemblance to that of today. We rode real bikes with one speed—whatever our legs would pump up. We rode all over town without our mom worrying about us. The neighbors all knew us and had us run errands for them. Our toys included hop toads, horny toads, grass lizards, and June bugs. We played in the rain, got muddy, got dirty, got hot, and got cold with the seasons. And all the time we had parents and grandparents who loved us and cheered us on. We were so blessed to have both.

If a child has even one grandparent, a certain amount of history will come out about the child’s parent. But the best part about having any kind of grandparent is seeing the continuity of life in a family, from one generation to the next, with love.

So How Does THAT Concern Me?

So many of us today would just like to live our lives in peace without having to fuss with anyone over property boundaries, the volume of the neighbor’s music, the color scheme the neighbor chose for his house and garage, the number of pets or children running amok among our flower beds, the little things like property taxes, the price of fuel, the price of food or medical services. No, those are not the most earth shattering things, but we really would like to be able to just ignore them and enjoy our favorite hobbies or otherwise be able to quietly go about our lives. But such is life that we are constantly brought up short by some ‘problem’ with a capital P.

One neighbor has caused property values to plummet by parking dilapidated cars all over his yard. So we ask the city offices to ‘do something’ about it. Another neighbor has decided to plow up his front yard and plant a garden of cotton, okra, and sunflowers. The neighborhood children have discovered they can hide there and throw things out at people passing on the sidewalks. Oh well. It is HIS yard and kids will be kids.

Some things are just not worth our concern. It is pointless to complain or worry if things will change in three months, a year, or two years. My favorite grandmother used to say that no one would know the difference in a few years anyway. And that is so true of many things that irritate or otherwise grate on our nerves. But some things do actually matter now—and will matter in years to come.

Animal abuse has probably been around in some form since mankind discovered his ability to chain them up or even eat them. But seeing abuse of animals hurts the spirit of those who can make a difference. So, that is one concern that can and should be addressed by everyone. But is child abuse? Our youngest son reminded me of an incident that happened when he was little. He wanted a toy while we were at the grocery store and I said we could not do that. He threw a hissy fit and got an immediate response from me—a paddling right then and there in the grocery aisle. If I had done such a thing today, I might have been arrested for child abuse!

Animals and small children need to be corrected immediately to help them associate the behavior with the response. The response does not have to be terrifically painful, just definitely unpleasant. Just as we give rewards immediately for good behavior, we have to be able to respond to wrong behavior immediately. A good parent doesn’t just ignore bad behavior.

Somehow I feel a bit like a neglectful parent when I see our government running amok among our civil rights. But I will be dipped in kerosene for fleas if I can figure out exactly how to ‘correct’ our government’s behavior. Voting or not voting doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of difference these days—if it ever did. I can remember that our city government planned years ago to build a convention center and events complex. The citizens of our fair city voted it down numerous times, but somehow it managed to slip in there on a ballot and get built anyway. Now a convention center might be a pretty expensive item for a fairly small city like ours, but some of the ‘items’ on our government’s list are so big that they defy imagination. Three commas in a figure just about top my ability to imagine an amount.

Even if the government were not spending as freely as a child who stole his brother’s piggy bank and found his way to the candy store, something about the way things are being done—even in the open and semi-above board—makes me suspect that citizen rights are far from being of first consideration these days. Oh, I have already written to the Texas governor about Bill 1440 that gives Child Protective Services the right to invade and kidnap our children just like a SWAT team on a mission. But what about government agencies that MAKE money off of taking away citizen rights? Whether it is the local drug enforcement people who decide we MIGHT be druggies or CPS who think we are too strict with our children, who gives these people the right to force their way into private homes?

Today we saw that the government has decided to tax 25 percent of the cost of business cell phone use because they have somehow decided that the normal person (?) uses a business phone for personal use about 25 percent of the time. Now, when will the government decide it can tax my playing Farm Town because it is an unnecessary addiction similar to alcoholism? Makes sense to me! Being concerned somehow is just not enough when civil rights violations are so ubiquitous and so idiotic. Some things were never meant to be taxed. Some rights (ownership, privacy, and self-defense) were never meant to be seized.

Unto the Least of These

 

No, animals are not our brothers in the sense that they are not born of men; but we share this earth with them, and in many respects, share the same fate.  What happens to them eventually happens to us in ways we might not even consider.  If we poison our planet, we poison life that is sustained by the planet.  If we show little regard for the small creatures of this place we call home, can our disregard of life not quickly extend to the lives of people as well? 

 

Today our neighbor’s daughter took four little kittens to the animal control facility.  When she spoke to me about it, she said that she regretted having to do it, but the kittens were ‘feral’ and unhealthy.  No one had ever taken the time to show any attention to the mother cat, so the kittens’ relationship with humans consisted of staying just out of reach.  The kittens were undoubtedly euthanized this morning shortly after their arrival at animal control.

 

Each day thousands of kittens, puppies, cats, dogs, and assorted critters are killed one way or the other.  We have agencies that try to prevent cruelty to any animal, but the fact is that the animals are in an overwhelming majority.  Even if every family in America took in two dogs and cats today, thousands would still be out there roaming the streets and alleys.  And the outlook for their survival—much less their healthy existence—is pretty dismal.

 

Horses were once the treasure and pride of kings.  Today it almost takes a king’s financial backing in order to keep a horse.  So what happens to the thousands that are not in stables and beautiful green pastures?  They die of neglect.  It is just that simple.  An animal that carries its pride in its head and flying mane can become a bedraggled carcass just as quickly as the dogs and cats roaming the streets unless someone cares for it.

 

Now the little child that roams the streets is no different than an animal—and almost as dangerous.  It may grow up to become a vicious killer.  It needs loving care, attention, and someone to teach it—to tame it.  The child may belong to a neighbor, but we pay attention if we want to reach out to tame a little heart.  We teach by example.  The child sees how we treat our cat, our dog, and our neighbors.  And the child becomes tame.

 

None of us can prevent abuse or neglect of all the animals.  And none of us will ever overcome the crises of child abuse in this world.  But each of us can take responsibility where we can, in whatever way we can.  One kitten, one old dog, one little boy at a time can be loved.

Things Remembered

One summer spent in Arkansas gave me memories of fireflies that can’t be reproduced for the grandchildren. Oh, Arkansas is still there even if the farm has long since been sold and the grandparents gone to glory. But the summer nights were special for a particular reason. Granddad Kennedy didn’t believe in lighting up the entire farm with those night lights up on huge electric poles. Certainly the chicken houses were well lit, but the front lawn and the horse trap out in front of the barn were pools of darkness lined by huge trees. And they sparkled at night with the flashing of fireflies.

In Texas it always seemed to be too dry to think about fireflies, but northwest Arkansas was almost juicy with moisture. The fireflies seemed to like it, anyway. We would catch them—probably mostly males—and put some in a jar for a while before we turned them loose. They could never have produced enough light to show a path or anything of that nature, but they were purely fun to catch and imagine as our own personal lanterns.

Years ago our children were able to catch some fireflies out in the backyard or down toward the lake on the Fenoglio’s lawn. Mrs. Fenoglio found their attempts as amusing as we did and let them run around all over her hill. And the fireflies were great fun to chase. But something has happened to the fireflies. At first I thought it might have something to do with the spraying for the mosquitoes that has caused them to disappear. But a little research has given me more things to consider.

According to an Associated Press article, fireflies have declined as much as 70 percent in some areas. Part of the reason is due to loss of habitat—housing projects built in creek beds. Part of the loss is due to lights—yes, lights. Fireflies need darkness to find their mates. Well, duh. That makes sense. But if one of these huge, oversized, overpriced houses has 32 big lights shining to show off its ostentatiousness, then the firefly doesn’t have a chance to be even a tiny bit of a showoff for his potential mate. If insects like the firefly don’t mate, we lose another species.

Ok, so the loss of one species of firefly out of 2,000 may not sound like a big deal in the overall picture of the insect world. It only matters if one is a member of that species, I suppose. But if we are so callous as to ignore our responsibility to the survival of the smallest things, what does that say about our stewardship of the larger things of life?

Oh, and I plan to find a book to explain fireflies to the grandchildren. Otherwise they may never have any idea of what they have missed.

Forgetfulness…and that Other Stuff

Forgetfulness is not so bad.  In fact, it is actually pretty handy as a reason for not showing up somewhere or otherwise not doing whatever was expected.  Someone will ask me, “Don’t you remember that we wanted you to . . .?”  Well, the answer is usually no.  A deep sigh or a shrug of the shoulders just means that one of us is forgetful.

 

And then there is that hearing thing.  Sometimes people think that they have told someone something, when, in fact, they really just thought about it.  When we all become mind readers, we will probably have other problems—confusion comes to mind.  But when the person who sits in the chair across the room from us hears about half or less of what is said, well, that can cause some interesting situations.

 

“Why did you move the truck?”

 

“Didn’t you say you needed to move the truck so you could mow?”

 

“No, I said I will take the truck to be washed after I mow.”

 

Oh, life is definitely more interesting for the forgetful, the hard of hearing, and . . .what were those other things?

And This Time I Mean It

 

Fang and I have this silly joke when we tell one another that we love the other, one or both of us will giggle/laugh and say, ‘And this time I mean it.’  It’s silly; but then so is trying to live with someone for a lifetime.  It takes a sense of humor and more patience than a cow has milk to live at peace with someone for a lifetime.  But every day we are reminded that the effort has been worth it.  Sharing our lives has given us more than any list of tangible benefits that some psychologist could discover and publish.  The children have been one of those most interesting benefits.

 

Of all the things children teach, helping us learn how to play again has got to be the best gift that they can give us—well, next to grandchildren, that is.  And truthfully, the grandchildren just make it easier to join the fun again without quite the sense of responsibility that we had when their parents were little and we were caring for them on a 24-7 basis.  Walking in the rain with a child or digging in the dirt is right up there on my scale of fun stuff.

 

When we first got married, it seemed as if we both had made a definite choice about our new friend.  Oh, we both had had people with whom we grew up or hung out with, but this was a REAL friend who would be there forever.  And that is how we felt about marriage that first few years.  And then we grew up a bit and learned that we had to work together to be happy and to make our lives mesh in the best ways.  His work became my concern, and my work became his concern as well.  But even when things were tight and problems seemed to come at us fast and furiously, we still had someone right there to hug and to listen to the concerns.

 

After nearly 41 years, Fang still teases about my cooking—and yes, about my driving as well.  And he still has no idea where the furniture will be when he wakes up in the morning because I still move the darned stuff around—and worse still, I move around his tools, his tractor, and other assorted stuff that he thinks he will find where he left it.  That situation takes patience, but the pile of tools on the kitchen table takes just a bit of patience as well.  What really amounts to patience, if truth be told, is the certainty that we will both smile at each other and know that whatever concerns one of us will always matter to the other.  This is the time when we really mean it—we really do love each other, and it’s a blessing we appreciate deeply.

Seasons Greetings!

I promise that THIS is the time of the year that we receive the best season’s greetings.  In the first place, every bird (including the duck that walked her babies across six lanes of traffic on Southwest Parkway today) has an attitude!  The doves have been giving us a hard time since yesterday when the bird feeders ran out of seeds.  So this afternoon we made a trip to Atwood’s to pick up more bird seed.  The neighbor’s cats came to sample the stale bread I threw out for the ducks, but otherwise the feast was on among the winged critters that discovered the replenished feeders.

 

My parents were the recipients of a few radishes picked from among the zinnias this morning.  Our flower/garden is a little bit strange, but mostly it has its shape from the flow of laundry water that took all the zinnia seeds to one end of the hill and left the radish seeds willy nilly wherever they sprouted.  Then there is the dill weed that just tantalizes me every time I touch it.  The taste is wonderful and just calls for more lettuce, tomato, or just about anything green.  The rest of the flowers in the yard are somewhat more organized.  Pots of squash and some kind of strange purple bean fill one big liquid cow feed tub.  Other tubs contain roses or mint or cucumbers.  The tubs just seemed more sensible since my time is divided between several other little jobs around this place.

 

Fang dared to let me drive his tractor yesterday.  I ran the top into a tree branch; I ran over a tree, but managed to back up before I ruined anything.  Then I ran the front loader into a telephone pole.  Fang swears the phone company people called and said to keep me out of the telephone poles as it was making their customers stutter!  Then I found a nice hole out between some trees and dropped one wheel off in it.  Fang just sat there and watched and shook his head.  Unbelievable!  Years ago he would have shouted at me.  Maybe all that work we did together on the tractor made a difference to him….or not.

 

When we finally finished all the mowing of the lots between us and the highway, the land looked so very nice.  If it were not for all the uneven ground and the danged holes, the land would be nice for playing on or just for walking.  One stone we dug out and dropped in a hole was a two foot block of concrete.  At least I didn’t run over that one!   But Ray Charles could have seen that chunk of rock!  Eventually the land will look half way decent and be level enough to mow a bit more easily.  And maybe eventually I will learn to drive the tractor with the front-end loader on it and the finishing mower on the back.  Meanwhile, we can sit outside on the porch bench and listen to the birds sing and watch the cats and squirrels run around on the mown grass.  Yeppers, this is the season for greetings in green and song.