by Nita Frazier

Created on: July 12, 2010   Last Updated: July 13, 2010

I never wanted to be a grandparent. Grandparents are old, decrepit, and peculiar. They live in the past, stepping into the present only to complain about their various ailments.

I loved my grandparents and enjoyed spending time with them. I treasured the sacred bond between children and their grandparents, however, I couldn't see myself as a grandparent.

“I'm never getting married, never having children!” I announced to the world.

That, I thought, took care of the grandparent issue.

While I wasn't looking, Life happened. I got married and had two children.

While my own children were growing up, I stubbornly kept my mind closed to the possibility of grand parenting.

It simply would not, could not, happen, I told myself.

Then one day my daughter, D'Lane, twenty, and single, told me that she was pregnant.

A warm, liquid gush of joy, similar to the liquid center of fruit gushers candy erupted from my heart, flooding my entire being.

My hands, acting on their own volition, clapped and I felt an idiotic grin spread across my face.

That initial burst of joy was a pale premonition of the grand parenting joys in store for me.

There was the joy of bonding, of feeling those tiny, warm bodies snuggled in my arms.

That was followed by the joy of learning, of watching my grand babies master their bodies then reach out to explore the wider world.

There is the joy of pride in watching their confidence grow with each new skill they learned.

Then there is the joy of identification when a child slips his small hand in mine and says, “Come here, Me-Maw.”

There are troubles, too, in this grandparent land. Discipline is a hard issue for both grandchildren and grandmother, but we're learning together.

I enjoy setting rituals and traditions in place for my grandchildren. We have many: star burst candy in the candy jar, goldfish crackers in the cracker canister, and the ritual of pushing the toy box from the spare room to the den.

I thrill to their sweet voices on the telephone. Sometimes it a sweet, “Hi Me-maw!” Other times it's a more complicated, “Can aw have a sleep-over?”

The sleep-overs are an article in their own right.

There are anxieties, too, in being a grandparent. Am I watching them closely enough? Am I watching too closely and crowding their free time?

There are fears too, as when three-year-old Bo disappeared on my watch. My heart froze. I wanted it to stop beating until we found him.

A few minutes later we found Bo, asleep in a forgotten corner of the den.

When the grandchildren, there are two of them now, are not with me I go through the days in a sleep-walking stupor, simply marking time.

I am fully alive only when we are together.

One of the understated joys of being a grandparent is that at the end of the day, they go home with Mom and I can rest and store energy for their next visit.

If I had known how much joy there is in being a grandparent I would have skipped having children and gone straight to grandchildren.

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