I was at the park with two of my friends one afternoon, when the voice of a mother echoed through the trees surrounding us. “Greg, you nuisance, get over here. I’m not keeping the food just for you.”
A young boy, about 8 years old, who had been playing with a ball nearby, put it away and looked up at me. I was distracted by my departing friends who were waving goodbye and smiling at the boy. I watched them as they drove away. I turned around and the boy now stood close to me. He held onto the sleeve of my jacket. I said, “Oh, I didn’t know you were right here.”
The boy leaned closer. I was shocked to see a few tears in his eyes. He spoke carefully, as though he were frightened. “Could you – would you –?“ He was trembling. I watched his face and said, “Let’s start at the beginning. I’ll tell you my name and you tell me yours. My name is Luella Dow. What’s yours?”
He tried to smile, “My name is Greg. That’s what my grandma named me. My mom just calls me ‘nuisance.’” I looked him in the eye and said, “Greg, your mother certainly doesn’t mean those things. I can tell that you are a nice young man. Your grandmother gave you a good name and…” He interrupted me and said, “Not now, not anymore.” He was on the verge of crying, “My grandma died. And mom says nobody likes my name so she just calls me ‘nuisance.’”
His mother’s voice calling again through the trees pierced my ears. I took Greg’s hand and said, “Let’s get you to your house so you can surprise your mother. Where do you live?”
“Just across the street. I wish — could you — please Mrs. Dow?” I stopped him for a moment. “Something’s been bothering you, Greg. What is it? Tell me.”
“I—I—would you be my grandma?
“Your grandma?” We were almost at the door of his home. I began to speak when a scowling woman at the door said, “You trying to steal my boy?”
“Steal your boy?” Was she joking? “Why of course not. I walked him home so we could talk a bit.”
The scowling woman said, “You mean you wanted to tell him some secrets that you wouldn’t want me to hear?” I took a big breath and faced this scowling woman eye-to-eye. “Lady, I would like to invite Greg to visit my home tomorrow. We have a large yard and a friendly dog and —“
Greg was almost jumping up and down in his enthusiasm, “Please Ma, please?” Scowling Woman shook her finger at Greg, “Huh? Who’s gonna do your chores?” Greg gathered his courage, “I will. Before I go. I promise.”
The scowling woman mumbled, “At least I won’t have you hanging around here all day.” She pulled him into the house, slammed the door shut and left me to myself. On my way home I thought, “Was this a nightmare? Or a woman who’s confused, or a — no wonder my young friend cries. He needs a grandma. What shall I do?”
The next morning I remembered what happened several years ago when our family often gathered for dinner at my house. One of the relatives pretended to be helping with the food and suddenly she would grab the serving dish from my hand and talk loudly for all to hear, “This isn’t any good. Don’t you know you can’t use this?” Long experience told me why she was going through her little speech. I knew it was to embarrass me. All her life she had needed to prove her “I’m better than you” slogan.
Greg’s mother reminded me of this relative at my family gatherings. Greg’s mother must have gone through times in her life when someone trod on her pride and crushed her feelings of self-worth. The person in my family never changed.
But what about Greg’s mother? For Greg’s sake, something in that family must change. Could I be the grandparent he longed for? Could any of us?
Luella Dow is a Cheney-area author. She can be reached at cfp@cheneyfreepress.com.
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