47- Grandparents' Day

We celebrated Grandparent’s Day at school today. I’m pretty sure Principal forgot about Grandparent’s Day for a while. It is usually celebrated at schools on one of the first days after the Labor Day holiday. That was five weeks ago.
It was very sweet to see how proud the kids are of their grandparents. The students have been preparing for weeks; they made welcome posters, wrote family narratives, and drew pictures of their beloved grandparents. The school set up a lunch buffet for our guests to enjoy.
At lunch I sat with the few students who did not have a grandparent come to school today. Each had their own explanation for their grandparent’s absence. Robbie, whose parents are old enough to be his grandparents, had an obvious excuse, “All my grandparents are dead.” Ajith solemnly stated, “My grandparents couldn’t come because India is a long way away.” Yocelin’s grandparents live in Cuba. Turd Boy sat by my side, offered no explanation, and predictably reeked of poop.
After lunch, my students invited their grandparents back to our classroom. The students took turns introducing their grandparents and then read a little poem or story they had written about their grandparent.
Ashleigh, an obsessive Boston Red Sox fan, read a poem about how much she had enjoyed going to a Red Sox game with her Grandmother. Both of Ashleigh’s grandmothers had flown in from New Jersey to be at school on this special day. The poem went on and on about how much she loved her grandmother and how much fun they’d had watching baseball. Ashleigh’s grandmothers both listened to their granddaughter’s poem with smug smiles on their faces. Every few moments, one would cast a suspicious glance at the other.
When Ashleigh had finished reading her poem, her grandmothers beamed and clapped enthusiastically. The taller of the two proudly announced, “I remember that game, Ashleigh. Didn’t we have spectacular seats?”
Before Ashleigh could respond, the shorter grandmother chimed in, “Pipe down, Irene! That poem was about the Boston game I took Ashleigh to last summer.”
Uh oh. Each woman was sure the poem was about herself. How could I delicately fix this mess? I glared at Ashleigh, who had started to giggle.
Irene stomped her foot a little, and jabbed her nose into the air. “Oh, please, Jean. Didn’t you hear the part about how fun it was to cheer wildly for our team? That’s what Ashleigh and I like to do together, cheer for the team.”
Grandma Jean’s skin tone changed to match the red in her hair. “Irene, you are too stuck up to cheer at a baseball game. Besides, you’re a Yankee fan and you’d never root for Boston!” Triumphantly, the red-faced granny turned towards Ashleigh, “Aren’t I right, honey? That poem was about me?”
Irene looked defeated.
Ashleigh stopped giggling. “Uh…. Umm…. Well.” The kid was finally beginning to realize the mess she had made. She looked from grandmother to grandmother, with an expression of despair upon her face.
Irene’s voice broke through the uncomfortable silence of the room. “Ashleigh, I bought you a baseball signed by all the best Red Sox players.”
Ashleigh exhaled heavily, “Okay, okay, okay. The poem is about Grandma Irene.”
Grandma Jean jumped out of her seat. She marched furiously out of the classroom and slammed the door behind her.
Irene remained seated, proud and tall. I spent the next hour trying to erase the awkwardness that Ashleigh’s poem had created. Luckily, the other grandparents were easily distracted by their own grandchildren’s stories.
Later that afternoon Ashleigh swore that she did not know that both grandmothers had planned to attend Grandparent’s Day. “It was a surprise,” she insisted. Ashleigh also admitted that the poem was really written out of her love for baseball, rather than a fondness for a particular grandmother. I suggested she explain this in an apology letter to both women.