Grandparents Day 2009

Understanding your grandparents comes in stages.

There is the initial perception: a time when you view their cozy home only in the context of fresh-baked cookies and toy store shopping sprees.

With age, your awareness grows. You notice the scratchy plastic that covers the living room couches. The fact that Grandpa's bathroom stops really interfere with your family's road trips.

Then, you understand.

You understand Grandma and Grandpa are real people, not just holiday vacation hosts. And you realize you've shown up near the end of a life story they've already written.

Today is National Grandparents Day.

I'll think about my paternal grandparents, the tough Chicogoans who masked our Christmas presents as dirty laundry.

I'll think about my maternal grandmother, whose stern exterior crumbled whenever I mentioned George Clooney.

But most of all, I'll remember my maternal grandfather.

He had Alzheimer's. I can't recall when he died.

But I haven't forgotten being a child and kneeling beside the man I was warned wouldn't know me.

As young as I was, the moment marked a harsh understanding of the limits of our minds. I realized that without warning this scene's snapshot could dim over time.

That's why, two decades later, I make a conscious effort to seize the memories I've amassed.

Even if those memories can't remember me.