The birth of
grandchildren is a much-celebrated event. The adoring grandparents indulge in
many delightful moments contemplating the terms of endearment they will
eventually be called by their adorable grandchildren. Some of the more
mainstream choices are grandma and grandpa, bubby and zaidy, or saba and savta.
Of course, there are multiple variations on these themes, depending on
tradition or personal preference. Despite the planning and possible friendly
debate that goes into making these decisions, the people whose opinions are not
taken into account are the grandchildren themselves. This is unfortunate since
they ultimately make the decision.
When my children
were born, my parents decided to go the straight and narrow with grandma and
grandpa. Apparently, all three of my children missed the memo. The variations
that ensued were “Geema and Geepa,” “Grammagranpa” (a single phrase used to
refer to both of them ), and finally “momop” and “bopop.” No one really knows
where that came from. Now this is not to say that they did not understand the
terms “grandma” and “grandpa.” How do I know this? Well, one year during
Chanukah, my sister Claire came to visit with her daughter Maddie, who was
about three years old. My son, who was only a little older, went over to his
aunt with a perplexed look on his face. Pointing to his grandparents, he
asked my sister “Why does Maddie keep calling them grandma and grandpa?” So
much for understanding the theory of relativity.
Now, some children
develop a more sophisticated, albeit incorrect, understanding of their
relationship to their grandparents. One of my friend’s in-laws live in
California, so it is a rare and much celebrated event when they come to visit.
Because she truly wants them to enjoy their time when they come, she puts in a
lot of effort to make sure their stay is comfortable. Therefore, prior to their
arrival, she calls friends and neighbors to ask them for recipes and ideas that
her in-laws might enjoy. After their most recent visit, I saw my friend’s four-year-old
daughter. Not knowing how they refer to their grandparents, I simply asked her,
“Did you have special visitors for Pesach?” Looking up at me with a big smile
on her face, she exclaimed, “Yes, my in-laws came to visit.”
Clearly, children
can be easily swayed by what they hear and have no compunctions about calling
family members by other names. This was again brought to my attention by my
sister, who called me the day after her visit. Really, she called to complain
because her daughter was now calling her “Aunt Claire,” instead of her
preferred name, Mommy. Although I did offer some advice, I found this highly
amusing. That is, until the fateful day when I picked up my own daughter from
preschool and was greeted with a hearty, “Hello, Morah Esti.” Although Morah Esti
is a wonderful person, I couldn’t help but feel a little insulted. But I
decided to be the bigger person and take the sisterly advice I had given my
sister when she was in this predicament. I decided to be patient and overlooked
it when my daughter said, “Thank you Morah Esti” after I gave her dinner. And I
shuddered quietly when she said, “Morah Esti, can you read me a story.” The
number of “Morah Estis” that were uttered only strengthened my resolve to
become a better mother. Also, I knew things would be back to normal in the
morning. This short-lived fantasy was shattered when I woke my little cutie pie
and the first words that popped out of her mouth were, “Boker tov, Morah Esti.” That’s when I knew it would be a long
day.
Now, there are
times when, much to your dismay, your children admire you for who you really
are. Many years ago, after getting dressed up to go to a wedding, I came
downstairs and sat down on the couch. My daughter rushed over to me, dug her
cute little elbows into my knees, and rested her head upon her hands. Gazing up
at me in awe, she said, “When I grow up, I want to have a necklace and earrings
just like you.” Before I could say anything, she continued, “When I grow up, I
want to have makeup and a pretty dress just like you.” Without missing a beat,
she gave a big sigh and said in a wistful voice, “And when I grow up, I want to
have a big nose just like you.” It was times like these that I wished I was
still Morah Esti.
