A perfect strategy that stood me in good stead – until late Friday night. The other adults had already long retired for the night and I was hoping my procrastination would exhaust me enough to enable me to fall asleep easily in a bed that wasn’t my own. Having finally washed up, I used my paper towel as intended and turned the knob gently to let myself out.
The door didn’t budge. I tried the heavy brass knob again, this time a little less gently. Nothing doing. I was in a quandary. Yelling for help crossed my mind, but my sleeping hosts would have probably not heard me. I tried my luck again, to no avail, and decided the paper towel wasn’t giving me a good enough grip. I resorted to the unthinkable: I chucked the paper towel and used my bare hands. These were desperate times.
It was hopeless; I was up against a door that stubbornly refused to give way. Just when I was beginning to wonder whether I could make myself comfortable in the tub for the night, I thought I heard my granddaughter’s voice (bless her heart) and called out quietly, “Can you try the door? I can’t seem to get it open.”
I pushed again and – voila! The door opened effortlessly. There stood my 18-year old grandson (nonchalantly tossing corn pops in his mouth), and I instantly knew he had been the cause of my frustration. He had mischievously leaned against the door at the other end and I had exerted myself in vain.
Far be it from me to give him the satisfaction of looking perturbed. In the mildest tone I could muster, I said, “You held the door, huh?” He feigned a “who, me?” look of utter innocence, while his sister stood at his side mumbling sheepishly, “I told him not to…” I just walked away, anxious to get to my hand sanitizer.
So much for arming myself. But I really ought to look at the bright side. When my daughter-in-law learned about the incident (from her daughter), she expressed her sympathy to me and then added that her son had such a “different” relationship with me than with her own mom. “He’d never pull that on her,” she exclaimed. “He wouldn’t dare! Besides, my mother would have a heart attack.”
Was I meant to take comfort in her sentiment? I wasn’t sure, though my daughter-in-law seemed to genuinely mean it as a compliment. I guess I could have sulked and whined that I get no respect. I chose instead to consider myself young at heart… and as having transmitted that message to my grandchildren – who, after all, are my friends. (Can you laugh until your belly aches with anyone other than your good friends – as my grandkids and I did earlier that same day?)
Can friendship between young and old be overdone? I would have to say that each of your arguments has merit. Maybe it’s a personality thing and as individuals we just have to find that middle ground that works. As for me, never mind the half-full/half-empty cup; I always look upon mine as brimming.