Conversations With the Boy

age 4, 2007

Time Wounds all Heels ~ Satchel doesn’t call him Grandpa, he calls him Bob. My ex has our grandson over for a swim and we are tag-teaming having him for the week-end. Bob lives a few blocks away on Garland and the two of them were playing cowboys and Indians—or maybe it was cops and robbers—while waiting for me in Bob’s front yard. As I pull up to the curb, I see Satch has proudly tied his grandfather to a tree, a large rope encircling his seated torso several times, securely pinning his arms to his sides. The grandboy isn’t old enough to tie a square knot or two half hitches, but clearly, there’s enough rope wrapped around Bobalooie that he isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Satchel says, “Hi Oma!” grabs his little backpack, chirps “Bye, Bob,” and hops in the back into his car seat. I assess the opportunity, which is just too sweet to pass up, give Bob the Queen’s wave, and merrily press on the accelerator as Satchel signals farewell out the open window. I figure wife number four will eventually wonder where he is and set him free. Or not.
Summer 2007

Picasso ~ This is my favorite of my grandson’s drawings, which he did for my birthday in 2010. He was seven. I’m the one with good hair and one set of eyelashes. Both of us are missing eyebrows, but you know, I hadn’t noticed mine had disappeared until my granddaughter pointed it out. I should pay more attention.
August 2010

Oma and Satch, August 16, 2010

Looking Good ~ During a birthday party for Brooke, I sat in the corner of the family room hanging out with the little kids. They were each piping up with how old they were when Satchel reaches up, pats me on the head, and beams, “My Oma is 62, but she looks really good for her age. She could pass for 60!”
November 2010

Tupperware! ~ My dilemma is solved: Tupperware! I saw a cartoon with two older women paying their respects to their friend lying in an open Tupperware casket, with the caption, “Edna would be so pleased… look – Tupperware!”

My grandson asked if I wanted to be buried or cremated. I told him cremated because it’s less expensive and makes a smaller footprint on the earth. Then I told him the REAL reason I don’t want to be buried is because I don’t want the bugs to eat me. He decided he’d be cremated too. I said he was a little premature in his planning, and I prefer that he go after me, but that I didn’t imagine either one of us was proposing leaving anytime soon.
And now you’re wondering why I’m having this conversation with a ten-year-old. Well, he asked.
October 2013

age 11, 2014

Anger Issues ~ Satchel (age 11) asks, “Oma, do you know anyone with anger issues?”
I snort, “Do you mean other than just about nearly every single person in our family?”
The conversation moves on to Greek mythology and he tests me on all the gods and goddesses and thank Zeus, I remember. I can’t remember where I left my keys, my glasses, or my purse, but I’m pretty darn good recalling the underworld, Hermes, and Aphrodite.
January 2014

© 2007, 2010, 2013, 2014. Catherine Sevenau.
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