By: Marlene Oxender
Montpelier, Ohio
After I wrote “The Grandparent Leagues,” my grandson Deano and I talked about some of the funny thoughts I’d included.
It was a story about senior citizens and what it would be like if they played softball.
Deano and I tried to come up with a sport grandparents could play, and when soccer was mentioned, he said, “If grandparents played soccer, they’d be out of breath running up and down the field.
“They’d all want to be the goalkeeper because you just stand there. But sometimes you gotta dive, and that could be a problem.”
Deano knows his grandmother is a keeper of words – especially his. He watched as I wrote his thoughts in a booklet I carry in my purse.
Children have a way of telling it like it is, and their words can take us back to a familiar place. A place where we were strong.
A place where climbing a tree was as simple as trusting our legs to lift us to the next branch. And balance – how could that ever be a problem?
If a young person falls, there can be laughter. When a grandparent falls, it’s followed by a time-out until it’s determined they’re okay. Or not okay.
Years ago, I was with my mother as she sat down in a gliding rocking chair. I saw the chair start to tip, and although I was right beside it, I couldn’t grab the handle fast enough. The chair fell, taking Mom with it.
So there I was, standing in the living room looking down at my 85-year-old mother, still in the chair, which was on its side on the floor. She needed help. I needed help.
The phone rang. Mom told me not to tell anyone she was on the floor. It was my sister-in-law Karrie calling to say the roads were icy. She was home safe and sound, though her van had done a slip-slide. Her nephew had come to the rescue, so all was well.
Mom was sitting on the floor listening to our conversation – a conversation that was not to include the fact that she was on the floor.
After I hung up the phone, my mother decided she’d have to get herself up. I watched as she crawled to the couch and got to her knees before coming to a standing position.
She said she wasn’t hurt except for the bump on her head. She still didn’t want to give up her idea of not telling anyone.
I left for an appointment in Fort Wayne but stopped back on my way home to check on her. By then, both of us could see the humor in the story, and we laughed.
Mom said she must have been quite a sight to see. I told her a couple of pens had flown out of her hands. And some papers were scattered on the floor.
Her insistence on not discussing the fall was one of the story’s comical parts. She just needed time before deciding it would be best to let the family know.
So I wrote an email to my siblings, and in the morning, Mom shared her side:
And before I could get up, Marlene said, “That will make a good falling story – Grandma off her rocker.”
If it wasn’t for her, I would not have tried to set on the rocker. She wanted a telephone number, and I came from the davenport to write it down on a piece of paper under the light.
I don’t believe I even got set down, mostly on the left side, and it tipped over. She was right there but it happened so quickly she couldn’t catch me.
I cracked my head on the corner of the secretary, and the arm of the chair bruised my right side. The phone rang while I was still down, and it was Karrie telling Marlene about the snow on the roads.
I had said right away, “Don’t tell anybody.” So she listened to Karrie and never said a word. I finally got turned onto my knees and able to make it up.
I told Darrell because I thought he wondered why I didn’t pick up Steve. I have a bump on my head, but it doesn’t hurt unless I touch it. Could have been worse.
When Carolyn called, I was laughing and I turned the phone over to Marlene. When she came in the evening – she started laughing and going over the whole episode.
Verna is picking me up and I am going with her to Hicksville Hospital for a program. Have a good day. Love and God bless. Mom
Somewhere along the way, grandparents become the keepers of words that make a story worth remembering. We’re in our own league now, one where young people help us in ways we never expected.
They’ll teach us how to use a computer and how to write emails. They’ll hold our hand and carry our lawn chairs to a shaded area where we can watch them run on a soccer field.
In turn, we can tell them how we’ve been the keeper of our own goals. How we’ve become experts at doing things at a leisurely pace. How we dig in flower gardens by day and sit around campfires at night.
We’ve had our share of experience in the game of life. We’ve been the coach. We’ve been the referee. Now we’re the consultants and the keepers of stories.
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Marlene Oxender is a writer, speaker, and author. She writes about growing up in the small town of Edgerton, her ten siblings, the memorabilia in her parents’ estate, and her late younger brother, Stevie Kimpel, who was born with Down syndrome. Her three published books, Picket Fences, Stevie, and “Grandma, You Already Am Old!” are available on Amazon. Marlene can be reached at mpoxender@gmail.com