Joanne Sherman’s Column: Time’s a thief

My granddaughter was on the Island last week. She’s adorable. Always was, always will be. Her first visit happened when she was six months old. That was about two years ago, or four – possibly 26. Time flies.

The occasion of her initial visit is imprinted upon my memory as solidly as it was imprinted on her delicate little bald head, which I kept whacking – totally accidentally, I promise you. 

I bump into walls and doorjams going about my day-to-day activities. A baby in my arms threw my center of gravity off kilter. Every time I turned a corner there’d be a dull thunk, a lower lip pout, then a wail. It was especially dangerous getting our tiny bundle of joy in and out of the car so I could drive around the Island introducing her to my friends. 

That trip to Bliss’s Department store on Day Two wasn’t just to show her off, it was to buy an “I heart SI” hat to hide the damage grandma was doing to her head.

My biggest problem was that I had no experience with carseats. When our kids were small we simply plopped them into flimsy plastic baby holders we called “pumpkin seats.” Once old enough to sit without toppling over, we’d set them beside us while we drove. When we applied the brakes, our right arm would swing out to stop them from projectiling through the windshield. 

That “press the brakes, swing the arm” habit was so deeply ingrained that the last time I rode the Jitney into the city, when the driver applied the brakes my arm swung into action to save a fellow passenger. Unfortunately she was across the aisle from me and I had to lunge in order for my protective arm to slam against her chest and save her life. I think I scared her because she kept glancing over at me like I was a crazy lady. Or worse. I believe she even may have reported me to the driver, but, oh well.

According to my granddaughter’s parents, and the law, she had to be strapped backwards into her carseat. But it was more complicated than any equipment I’d ever had to deal with and I was a person who could thread a double bobbin through my Singer zigzag in the dark while swigging a rum and Coke and smoking a cigarette. All legit activities in the Wonder Years — what can I tell you? 

During her first visit I took her to the office where I worked so she could meet my friend, Kathy. I managed to get the baby unbuckled from the carseat, but when it was time to leave, I couldn’t figure out how to get the baby back into it. Reversing the process didn’t work, though it did leave me craving booze and a Winston. Finally, I got Kathy to come outside to help.

“Oh, dear Lord,” she said, “You can’t drive with her this way! She’s upside down!”

“Well, I know that!” I said. “Just help me flip her and she’ll be right-side up. Problem solved. I’m not an idiot.”

Both Kathy and the baby looked at me with an expression that shouted, in harmony, “Oh yeah, you are.”

Thankfully my granddaughter survived that first visit and when she was two, her family moved next door. If she had any memory that I was the person who’d bruised her tiny head or once got her stuck sideways in an IGA grocery cart, she never let on. She even liked occasional sleepovers.

One evening after we were in bed she decided she wanted to go home. Her room was right next to ours and I heard a quivery voice say, “Grandma, I want to go home.”

“O.K., Honey,” I said. “I’ll call your mom. She’ll be here in 10 minutes.”

I lied. I did not call. I assumed that in 10 minutes angel baby would be asleep. After 11 minutes I heard, “Grandma, where’s my mama?”

“She’s on her way. She couldn’t find her shoes.” 

Lies number three and four.

We went back and forth like that for an hour. Her questions getting more clipped and my lies, more elaborate. Then I heard her announce quietly, “Grandma. I don’t like you anymore. And this time I really mean it.”

Perhaps if I’d had adequate sleep I might have chuckled, but I’d hadn’t and I didn’t. Nope. Instead I resorted to playground nastiness and replied, “Oh yeah? Guess what, girlie. You’re not on my top 10 list, either!”

But that was another lie because she was then, and has remained, one of my most favorite people, ever. 

And last week, during this recent visit, I watched her get married. A beautiful veil covered that sweet head. 

Good thing, because it probably still has lumps.