One writer envisioned hair buns and aprons in the term 'grandma' until she discovered its meaning to her granddaughter.
By PATRICIA P. MARTIN
If you have children, you know the task of naming your child: name books, websites, family lineage, all replete with names for boys and girls. There is the endless list of first and middle names that swirl in your head. In my time of pregnancy, before we knew the sex of the child, you had two lists, one for girls and one for boys. Finding a name both parents liked was the next task. That may take awhile if your tastes vary. I found you can learn a lot about your spouse through this process. That is for another story.
Now, for those of us in our 50’s and 60’s who are fortunate to be grandparents, the name game begins again. It is time to decide what you want your precious grandchild to call you. Long gone are the days of simply being Grandma and Grandpa. We are in the age of designer grandparent labels.
For example, Gigi, Dodo, Mimi, Vivi, Memah, Toots, G, Mim, Giggy, Soo Soo or GG, to name a few. But, does it really matter what we call ourselves?
As William Shakespeare wrote in "Romeo and Juliet," “A rose by any other name still smells as sweet.” But, William Shakespeare, Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner in the book, "Freakonomics," dispute this sentiment. In the chapter “Perfect Parenting, Part II," they write "would a Roshanda by Any Other Name Smell as Sweet?” and provide statistics that show that the moniker you place on your child at birth can, positively or negatively, affect the child’s entire future. Scary though for prospective parents!
So, does the same hold true for naming yourself as a grandparent? Does our choice of name have any impact on our relationship with our grandchildren? One of my friends said he didn’t pick a name; he just waited until they, the grandchildren, called him something.
Well, I am not sure I am willing to take that chance. For one friend such an encounter ended with the name “BABUTZ”….ah… no; no way is MABUTZ going to be my moniker.
When I asked friends about their chosen grandparent name, very few went with the traditional Grandma and Grandpa. I think this is because now 60 is the new 40, and with the term Grandma or Granny we conjure up the image of a white haired, bun coifed woman wearing an apron. And as children’s story books portray, this Grandma is often a cat, dog or some such animal. And I certainly don’t picture myself that way.
When I knew my daughter was expecting, I researched names. I wrote the list of possible names pulled off the Internet, looked up ethnic names, thought about my grandparents and parents names (Grammie and Grandmom) and asked people I knew who were grandparents what they called themselves.
Being of Lithuanian, Irish and English descent I searched those ethnic names and came up with Nanny, Nana and Bobki. My mother went by Grammie, in honor of her favorite Grandmother and my grandmothers were both Grandmom. None of these names rang true for me, so I continued my search.
Finally, I decided on a French form of Grandmother, since I studied French in high school and college. MeMe (with an accent aigu on the e’s). It worked for me, although it is hard to pronounce for many. My own mother calls me Mammy when referring to my grandmother name, as she cannot quite remember the MeMe pronunciation and correct syllable accent.
Generally, I break out in a rendition of an Al Jolson tune from "The Jazz Singer" when she calls me that. However my first grandchild, Charlotte, was happy to oblige me by calling me MeMe. I think she was able to say it by one year of age and so it continued through all my visits to see her throughout her first two and a half years of life. Her paternal grandmother goes by GG.
I went along happily being beckoned in the morning with MeMe and teaching her words in French like “bonjour.” “au revoir,” and “ooh la la.”
Charlotte particularly loved to say “les poisson, les poisson” after watching the "Little Mermaid" movie. And so we lived happily ever after, until a visit to Charlotte when she was nearing 3 years of age. I generally fly into Washington D.C. for my visits in the morning, while my granddaughter is at preschool.
My daughter had informed the preschool teacher, Miss Judy, that her Mom was coming for a visit. So when Miss Judy said to Charlotte, “I understand you have a special visitor coming to see you today; your grandma,” Charlotte politely nodded and went on her way to the sand table. When she arrived home from school, Charlotte was very excited to see me and ran to my arms.
We had our usual love fest with lots of kisses and hugs, and then my sweet grandchild looked me straight in the eyes and asked, “MeMe, are you my Grandma?” My heart melted and I said “Yes, Charlotte, I am your Grandma.” My statement echoed like the editorial in The New York Sun of 1897, “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.” A look of utter happiness and joy filled my little granddaughter’s face and her body was shaking, literally shaking, with delight when she screamed out loud, “YOU are MY Grandma?”
I realized that this sweet little child did not think she had a Grandma. She knew she had a MeMe and a GG, who loved her very much; but where was her grandma? Even though I had told her in the past I was her grandmother, it must have been beyond her understanding at that time. Well, you can only envision how the rest of that visit unfolded. At every turn I was being beckoned by the name “GrandMa (accent on the Ma). I felt I was back on the TV show, "The Walton’s" or "Little House on the Prairie." And for an even bigger effect, Charlotte started calling me Grandmother. Imagine hearing her little voice at 7 a.m. calling for me to get her from her crib with the words, “Grandmother, Grandmother?”
After a couple months the Grandmother nickname was dropped, but now six months later I am called by a combination of either Grandma or MeMe.
Maybe after all, Grandma is not such a bad name; and maybe I need to stop dying my hair and maybe it is time for the return of the bun; and maybe I need to wear more aprons……NAAAHHH, that might be going a bit too far. But Grandma, with the accent on the MA works fine for me!
Next on the agenda for Charlotte may be understanding that Papa Jimbo is really GrandPa.
Patricia Peters Martin, a licensed clinical psychologist at the doctorate level, practices family and couples therapy in Longmeadow. She is an adjunct professor in the graduate program in developmental psychology at Bay Path College in Longmeadow. She is married to Atty. James Martin and has raised four children with her husband.