Grandkids

 So Wifey and I both grew up with loving parents, but no real involvement with grandparents. For Wifey, it's on account of the Nazis killing all 4 of hers, along with most of the rest of my late suegros' families. For me, my Dad's Dad was gone 6 years before I was born, my Mom's Dad died when I was just a little boy (I have a single memory of visiting him in a hospital bed) and I wasn't close with my grandmothers.

Jennie, my Dad's Mom, always seemed SO ancient to me, and our bi-monthly visits to her apartment in Jackson Heights were most memorable to my child self for the strong stench of urine, due to her incontinence. My Dad would bring her some groceries, and the daily Forward, the Yiddish paper she preferred, and then we would go upstairs and see my Aunt and Cousin -- also not close -- but no urine smell.

Wifey got to meet Jennie once, and it led to a humorous misunderstanding. We were in NY, and I wanted to have Wifey meet my Aunt, but she had other plans that day (there was a reason my Mom only barely tolerated her sister in law) but she told me which nursing home "Mama" was in. It was funny, I always recalled Jennie as cold and mean, but in her final time of dementia, she had become a ray of sunshine -- smiling and giggling.

I told her hello, and that I was her grandson, and she said no -- she only had Steve. I said I was Hy's son, and she insisted Hy had Trudy and Susan. I guess the memory banks ended in the 40s or 50s, and my 1961 birth didn't make the cut. But then I introduced Wifey, and decided to use the Yiddish version of her name,  Faye, since I figured the Hebrew name would be confusing. They met, and that was the last time we saw her, but then came the funny part.

Weeks later, Anne called my Mom and said she had no idea I was gay. What? "Mama said David came to visit with his faygellah (Yiddish slang for gay). So I had no real relationship with Jennie, but at least the final event was hilarious.

Anna, my Mom's Mom, DID spend time with us on LI, but between her mumbling and heavy Yiddish accent, I never understood a single word she said. She had so many grandkids and great grandkids, and so I treated her with respect, and she was nice enough (though inscrutable to me) but I recall zero meaningful encounters. My Mom would tell me snippets of her folk wisdom, but I never got them first hand.

Wifey got to meet her, too, once -- at a nursing home in West Palm Beach. She was indeed ancient -- I think she made it to 97, and for me, that was a woman who seemed old world ancient in her 60s.

Wifey's parents and my Mom were indeed close with the Ds. Since Wifey is an only child, the Ds were kind of a big deal to the two Holocaust Survivors. And MY Mom was a hoot to them -- her quirkiness was the seed of warm memories, like the time she broke the silence in our mini van to sigh and say "Ah -- it's 430." The Ds asked -- so what? Was she expecting a call, or was there a show on? "Oh now, I just looked at my watch. To this day, 430 is Grandma Sunny time...

And now...well...we kind of cotton to D1's boys. Friday was Baby Man's last day of preschool 3 performance, and Wifey actually made it into the car at 730 am for the trip to North Miami! Wifey no longer does mornings. It was a delightful scene -- Little Man mad a sign for his brother, and sang and danced along to the songs the little ones performed.

There's lots of exotic Jews there -- South American, European, along with the garden variety ones like us. One little girl looked Asian -- sure enough -- Jewish Dad and Asian Mom. I asked D1 if she was accepted to MIT yet...

We decamped to Bagel Bar East, and D2 met up with us. She and Jonathan are working hard at bringing a new member to the Band as well. Big Man willing -- we're hoping that's the news of 2027.

The boys left for Naples with their Dad -- soccer tonight, and some time at Wolf Lodge, which they love. The Ds, Wifey, and I went to D2's house and spent quality time with Betsy the enormous puppy, and Lemon, the skittish Spaniel. Lemon came home with us since D1 has a friends' reunion in Chicago.

One of her group is Caroline, a delightful and brilliant young woman, now a doc there. Her father Michael was an amazing man -- top surgeon in Miami -- the kind of guy who went to patients' houses to check on them, and had yearly charity trips to Haiti. He was a Richard Corry -- had it all -- but also demons -- he killed himself in 2018. As I saw the photo of Caroline , it struck me how sad her Dad will never meet his grandkids. 

So today, the skittish Spaniel will get a walky walk soon, and then a chill Saturday until this evening -- we're meeting Barry and Donna for dinner in Doral at Basilico -- precisely 20 minutes from each or our houses. Donna jokes that she will be an OLD grandma -- Scott, who is married, doesn't seem too close to having kids with Sam, and Josh is finding his path professionally now.

I hope they get this supreme blessing. I've heard it a lot, but now I know for myself -- grandkids are pretty, pretty, pretty wonderful. What I missed out on as a grandchild, I am MORE than gifted with as a Grandpa. And I dig it.