Don't call me grandma--unless you qualify

I used to think that entering old age was like shifting down a gravel truck.  You’d be roaring down a smooth asphalt road, when all of a sudden, you’d hit a rut and then gravel - and would frantically hit the clutch and brake as you struggled to keep all four wheels grounded.  I am old now, and so far, haven’t met that fate. Gratefully, I didn’t wake up one day feeling like my thought processes had been hijacked and replaced with a fog that never quite lifted.  A person who didn’t have an opinion or the curiosity to seek truth.  A being who had checked out of life because relevance and technology left them behind.  I am pretty sure my younger self perceived old age like that. I have obviously changed my mind—and you will too, someday.  In the meantime, I have a feeling that old age is the last social profile that hasn’t been added to the socially unjust index.  As much as I think there is danger in putting every single profile of a human into those demographic silos, I am a little surprised that grandparents haven’t united to stand up to the stereotypes.

Let me start right here.  I am a grandma.  To nine VERY special people. I am in LOVE with being a grandma.  I sometimes tease my own kids that if I had known how great it is to have grandchildren, I more than likely would have just skipped the parenthood thing!   But my grandmother role is saved for my grandchildren only!  If you aren’t one of those nine special people—don’t you DARE call me grandma.  I am not your grandma and will likely behave in a way that defies all approved grandmotherly behavior.  You know the stereotype.  Don’t do it.