Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how lucky my husband, daughter, and I are to have had the grandparents we do—grandparents who are and were so different yet came together to have such a profound impact on our lives.
My Daughter’s Grandparents
During August, my daughter’s grandparents (who live four hours away) spent significant time with her but filled it with very different experiences.
My husband’s parents stayed with us for five days so they could build what can only be described as a tree mansion in our backyard. And I don’t mean they put together one of those prefabricated sets. No way! This treehouse started with my mother-in-law’s design and my father-in-law’s trailer full of lumber. From dawn until dusk, my in-laws (with help from us) poured their blood, sweat, and a few tears into what has already become a daily activity for my daughter and will absolutely be a core memory for years to come.
My parents, on the other hand, stayed with us twice last month to help out during work commitments and while my husband and I took an adult-only vacation. Do you know what they did to entertain our four-year-old? Dinner at Harry & Izzy’s, a staycation at The Alexander, brunches around town, tickets to Cirque du Soleil, a hooky day from school at The Children’s Museum, multiple visits to Chuck E. Cheese, shopping for new clothes and books, and all the sweets her stomach could handle.
While it might sound like I’m comparing these experiences as if one were better than the other, I’m not. They both fill my soul with joy for two reasons. First, my parents and in-laws truly enjoy each other, which makes it easy (and not competitive) for them to spoil their only granddaughter in unique ways. Second, it reminds me exactly of my husband’s and my experiences with our own grandparents.
Our Grandparents
I almost feel guilty writing this, but my husband and I were both lucky enough to have our grandparents (who all lived within 20 minutes of our hometowns) into adulthood. I lost my first grandparent at 20 and my last at 33. My husband lost his first grandparent at 25, and our last living grandparent just celebrated her 90th birthday. We are so incredibly grateful to have had the years we did and for the vastly different things we learned from these eight amazing humans.
My mom’s parents – Leo and Betty – were the country club types. Grandpa Leo’s obituary started with, “Leo was a loving husband, father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. He also loved International Harvester, the game of golf, a stiff Manhattan, and his infamous white hair.” Yup, that about sums up the gem of a human that was my grandfather! Grandma Betty was an amazing seamstress, making most of my mom’s clothes and wedding dress by hand. Image was very important to them, but not in a bad way. They just loved fashionable clothes, formal photos, and a perfectly kept house with white furniture.
My dad’s parents – Happy and Onie – were more blue-collar. Grandpa Happy would wow us with tales of skipping school to play in a traveling baseball league, his days in the military, and his experiences singing in a barbershop quartet. My Grandma Onie, a first-generation American, grew up in a house with dirt floors and was the only one in her large Italian family to graduate high school. My grandparents had a garden behind their garage and a workshop in their basement. Their house was always loud and rambunctious, with my brothers and me knocking something over, Elvis playing on the radio, and pans clanging in the kitchen, making meals full of butter, garlic, and love. One of my favorite memories is the summer before my senior year of high school, when I ate lunch with them every single day.
My husband’s grandparents also provided a similar dichotomy. His mom’s parents, Ted and Martha, were pillars of the small town where they were beloved teachers and school administrators. Their home ran on sports, community, and strong opinions. In fact, when we first started dating, my husband warned me his family liked to “violently agree” when discussing current events. And ever the progressive, his 90-year-old spitfire Grandma Martha has always included her maiden name when signing, never had much use for a kitchen, and tells everyone the key to a successful marriage is separate checking accounts.
His dad’s parents – Junior and Wanda – were more like my paternal grandparents. Practical, do-it-yourself types, Grandpa Junior loved instant coffee and bought his wife the exact same gift every Christmas while Grandma Wanda loved snow and made a mean chocolate cake. One of my husband’s favorite stories is when he wanted to buy a rubber band shooter at the Illinois State Fair, and his grandparents refused because they knew they could make it better at home. My husband is still shocked he and his siblings survived the free reign of power tools and saws in Grandpa Junior’s workshop.
Legacies of Grandparents
Just like our daughter is experiencing now, my husband and I grew up with grandparents who had such different interests and skills. Yet, they complemented each other so perfectly that it created a nurturing and well-rounded environment in which to grow up. And even more importantly, despite these differences, they always became one big, boisterous family for every holiday, Grandparents Day, and sporting event. (Like literally an entire row of bleachers filled with grandparents, most of them yelling at the refs.) They loved loudly, although for some in their own quiet ways, and taught us what it meant to be a family by blood and a family by marriage.
I wouldn’t be who I am today without the impact of my vastly different grandparents who helped raise me together. Neither would my husband. And I know someday our daughter will look back on the different experiences her grandparents provided and feel the same gratitude for their combined legacy of family and love.
