So yesterday I made a very rare appearance at the local fried chicken fast-food establishment, known for tasty chicken and biscuits and mashed potatoes created from everything in the Periodic Table of Elements except potatoes.
Anyhoo, my “Morticians’ Choice” meal tallied $9.50 and I handed the young lady at the counter a ten. To my surprise, she returned $1.50.
I handed the bill back, assuming she was tipping me for being a likeable customer.
“No sir,” she explained. “I gave you the senior discount.”
I barely qualify as a junior, never mind a senior. This was an alarming first. The cheapskate portion of me was clutching that dollar bill like it were the Hope Diamond, and the other 98 percent of me was thinking, “Madam, how would you like a senior discount up side your head?!”
Cheap edged out indignant, and I pocketed the buck. But the episode reminded me that some of my friends – probably much older than me — are grandparents. How did this happen and will I be rewarded as well one day?
With zero data to back this up, I’ve hypothesized that the grandparent-grandchild relationship is endearing and enduring. My four grandparents – Gia and Garpy on Mom’s side and Grammy and Grampy on Dad’s side – made lifelong impressions on me and required a steady supply of G’s.
Things said and done by grandparents get absorbed by youth and remembered all their/our lives.
I’ve occasionally focused on Gia and Garpy and their aliases, Dolly and Rudy Dietrich. For this round, I’ll chat about Dick and Bessie Whipple.
Grampy died when I was 10, but I recall his gentle nature, ability to sketch guessable subjects and pass down the bald gene which to date has saved me $7,479.38 on barber, shampoo and Fonzie comb costs.
Upon request he would locate a pad of paper, then fish a mechanical pencil from his well-stocked pocket protector. He’d drop into one of their Victorian-esque high-backed chairs and invite me to a seat on his lap. From that vantage point, I could see what he was sketching and take random guesses as to what it might be.
Grampy’s sketching was far better than my guessing, so he’d complete blueprints of the Empire State Building before I could guess, “Skyscraper!” I’ve done the same activity with my own two daughters and they immediately guess my only go-to’s: a refrigerator and Hula-Hoop.
Also upon request, Grampy would coo a bedtime song that was sung to him as a young boy. He in turn sang it to my dad and so forth down the line until my daughters cringe when I break into:
‘Twas the night of the animal fair
All the birds and the beasts were there
And the old baboon, by the light of the moon, was combing his auburn hair
And the monkey he got drunk
And sat on the elephant’s trunk
The elephant sneezed
And fell to his knees
And what became of the monk … the monk … what became of the monk?
I remembered the song decades later and crooned it nightly whether Geni and Emerita wanted to hear it or not.
Grampy did well in insurance and one day gifted Grammy with a 1965 Mustang with the high-performance 289 V8. The engine itself wasn’t particularly large. Neither is a ’65 Mustang. So the nimble pony car would scoot with minimal pressure from Grammy’s heel.
The shiny black interior sported a T handle transmission shifter that Grammy let me haul from park into drive and reverse … or vice versa. I’d have to review the rebuilt transmission receipts.
After I clicked into drive, Grammy would lean into the gas pedal and get that Champagne Beige Mustang galloping, all the while humming along to blaring jazz booming from the AM radio.
Since that early exposure to Grammy’s sporty and powerful Mustang, I’ve owned a half-dozen myself.
During family dinner gatherings, Grammy would set out the fancy cobalt-blue glass plates and glasses. I don’t remember the meals, but I absolutely remember the mystique of the purply-blue dinnerware. My favorite color is cobalt blue, and I’m pretty sure I know why.
Sleepovers meant a halved grapefruit in the morning sprinkled with sugar. Using a grapefruit-specific knife, she’d slice along each compartment, creating a bunch of teaspoon-size segments that, when combined with a half inch of sugar, would wipe out scurvy and enamel.
I grew up loving grapefruit in any form, while my peers opted for the less tart but more joke-worthy bananas.
This year, Grandparents Day fell on September 8. Personally, I think the holiday should run the whole month and into October without slowing.
Spend some impressionable time with the kiddos. They’ll likely remember everything.
Bonus points if a Mustang is involved.
