This last week we drove by a house that I lived in with my grandparents when I was ten and eleven. I was flooded with memories of these two special people. As we drove home, I pondered what made them so special to me. Besides the love expressed in so many ways, it was the time, freely given, that made them remarkable. At ten I had given it no thought. Of course my grandmother would drive me to school every day. And why wouldn’t she want to teach me to knit? And didn’t Granddad enjoy playing rather wild games of double solitaire instead of his steady, quiet solitary nightly game. And didn’t they both admire the complicated caves I built with upturned furniture and blankets dragged from the linen closet? I always put the blankets back but do remember Grammy refolding my ten-year-old efforts the next day. My other grandmother was just as giving of her time. Trips to the aquarium, the Smithsonian, and the zoo followed by hours of reading out loud books that were just beyond my ability.
But besides looking back with adult eyes at the amount of time given the younger me, now that I am a grandparent, I understand that this was and is a two-way street. I now know the enjoyment of introducing a young mind to an activity, of sharing a beloved book, and spending time listening to what a young person thinks about the world. I was given a treasure and am now in the place where I can experience the other side of this gift. It has come full circle, something I appreciate with joy.
