- My grandparents raised my brother and me, and they were strict when we were kids.
- When I had my own children, they became much more affectionate and laid-back.
When I was a kid, I had a list of chores to complete after school. It was left on the refrigerator, held in place by a magnet shaped like fruit. When my grandmother returned home from her job as the secretary to the president of an aeronautics company, she checked the list. Not only did she make sure I'd put a strikethrough line over each item, but Gram also went and reviewed my work.
"You did not vacuum under the tea cart," she said one evening as I sat in my room finishing my homework.
Looking up, I knew what that meant. I headed to get the vacuum. After I plugged it in, she watched me move the cart and push the vacuum over the tile floor. She nodded her head before heading into her bedroom to change out of her work clothes and into her house dress.
I remember hearing from aunts about how strict my grandparents were when my mom was a kid. Towels had to be lined up perfectly in the bathroom.
My grandparents raised my brother and me
"They were like drill sergeants," my aunt relayed to me on one of the evenings when I stayed over at her house. "Your poor mother. Your grandparents were so rigid."
In the neighborhood, my grandmother had earned the unfortunate name of the barracuda. She was five feet three inches tall, and people feared her. She and my grandfather had high expectations of everyone, including my brother and me.
They were raised a certain way, and because they were left to raise us after my parents could not due to struggles with addiction, they raised us similarly. Part of that upbringing, as children of immigrants, meant children were second-class citizens, meant to be seen and not heard.
We were merely an extension of our parents. Our actions reflected on them as people. If we failed, they failed. If we looked bad, so too did they. When they took over the role of parent in our lives, our relationship shifted. They were not allowed to spoil or coddle.
When I had kids, their demeanor changed
Then, at 30, I gave birth to my first son, Zachary. Within two years, I had another child, Cami. My grandparents adored my kids. They bought them presents just because. They relished their visits with us.
My grandparents were never very affectionate when I was younger, but they cuddled with my kids. Gramps invited my daughter to join him on the couch, a place we rarely visited as kids. Instead, we sat on the carpeted floor. I watched as my grandfather sat with his arm around her and listened to her talk about her first days of kindergarten. Beaming with pride, he let out a laugh and looked at me. "She's so smart."
My grandmother joked with my son, laughing in a way I'd never heard. "He is so gorgeous," she often said. When my grandmother found out she had cancer, we spent Christmas at the apartment she shared with my grandfather.
She got a tree for the kids and even played a "Star Wars" game with Zach. I still cherish the picture of Gram wearing a Stormtrooper helmet. A fabric hat covered her head. Losing her thick black hair had been hard on her. It had been one of her favorite features. I remember being surprised that she let me take such a silly picture of her.
I was jealous of their relationship with my kids at first, but then my perspective changed
Watching my grandparents love my kids in a way that felt foreign to me was interesting. In the beginning, a part of me felt slighted. Why was it so easy for them to feel and show affection for Zach and Cami? They allowed my children to do things I would never have been allowed to do. They laughed and played with them, abandoning rules and overlooking mistakes I would have been called out for. Somehow, they loved them differently.
"They had to be parents to you," my aunt reminded me. I had never really thought of it that way. For the first time, my grandparents got to be grandparents with my kids. They did not have to raise them like they did with my brother and me. The responsibility of parenting was no longer theirs. Instead, I worried about doctor's appointments and school registration while they got to enjoy my children.
My feelings of envy for the relationship my grandparents were creating with my kids disappeared and were replaced with gratitude. I was grateful to see them finally claim the roles they missed out on with me. Watching them love my children in ways I know they never allowed themselves to be with my brother and me because they knew they had to create a different relationship with us was healing.
Seeing my grandparents differently allowed me to appreciate what they did for us. They stepped up to raise us when the people meant to couldn't. It also meant that we could build a new relationship. My grandparents became friends and allies in my role as a mother to my children.
Both of them died in 2013, within three months of each other, at the same hour and minute. When I look back at pictures of them with my kids, I tell them how much my grandparents loved them. It offers a comfort I never expected but am so thankful for.