Grandson Sonic (he’d be mortified if I mentioned him by name) scooted across the couch and snuggled close. It was nearly bedtime and he was stalling as young boys are likely to do. But it was Friday, and with no school or early appointments scheduled for Saturday, his mother was being lenient with the normally inflexible schedule. It was a tender moment, just he and me, uninterrupted by noises from the television or those annoying electronic games. After a few moments, I leaned over to him and whispered, “It’s almost time to go night-night.”
How could I have known that this simple phrase, used since he was a babe in arms would open the way to his asserting his transition into young-manhood.
“Grammie, can I talk to you about something?”
I had heard these words before. Sometimes the request was followed by “can we talk in private?” and led to disclosure of an uncomfortable experience in school or on the playground, or for guidance on how to make a request to mom. He didn’t move from his seat and it soon became evident that I would be the subject of this discussion.
“Grammie, will you stop treating me like a baby?”
“Sweetie, how do I treat you like a baby?” I was certain any baby-ing moments were initiated by him.
“You say things like ‘night-night’. That’s baby talk. You could just tell me it’s time to go to bed.
“Okay,” I agreed, “I won’t say that any more. Anything else?”
“Don’t call me ‘sweetie’ when my friends are here. It’s embarrassing.”
Thinking back over the events of the afternoon, I recalled he shouted “hi Grammie” to me as I walked past the group earlier, and I called back, ‘hey sweetie’. The truth is, I use words like sweetie, honey, sweetheart, buddy, darling, guys and kids, because I sometimes can’t remember the child’s name in the moment. It’s convenient and quicker than reciting a litany of names in search of the right one.
“Okay, I won’t,” I agreed. I wondered if other endearments were off limits. “Can I call you ‘buddy’?” He assured me buddy was tolerable. But there was one much more important thing he needed me to understand: I didn't have to shout for Grampa every time I saw a stink bug inside the house. He could take care of stink bugs just as well as Grampa.
I applauded his willingness to make his wishes known to me. It may take a while, but I shall work on reprogramming my language. I'll miss the special warmth of honey and sweetie tags, but Sonic, as far as I am concerned, you can be the official stink bug killer of every stink bug ever created.
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