Letters To Lyla

Dear Lyla,

I think I have figured out what makes grandparents so special; they have learned patience. I never understood as a child why my grandparents never got their feathers ruffled at my endless monologues or my need for an attentive audience when the dress up bug bit me. As a parent I now understand. In order to truly appreciate the sticky fingered, dirty faced, milk-spilling cacophony of  the world of children, you have to be done raising your own. Patience has never been my strong suit (as you and your daddy well know). Although, looking back, I had my fair share of hoary headed mentors who were more than willing to model such a virtue. One paragon of patience was my grandpa Hadsel; grandma Jo’s daddy. Grandma Jo was born and raised in Portland, Oregon and, while I was born there, we moved to Minnesota when I was very young. When I was a bit older I got to fly on a plane to visit grandpa Hadsel and grandma Dorothy (grandma Jo, Bumpa and Patti came too). I will never forget the flight! You could drink as much ginger-ale as you wanted and they gave you hot, moist towels to wash your face with right before you land (they don’t do that anymore, that’s a story for another day). It was an exciting trip, but perhaps too exciting for an 8 or 9 year old. I was so tired after I got to grandma and grandpa’s house all I wanted to do was sleep. I know now that I was experiencing jet lag, which I can tell you is not fun at any age. When I finally came around, I was groggy and a bit weepy. I think grandma Jo and Bumpa were pretty frustrated with me because they had a lot of activities planned and I was not cooperating. Grandpa Hadsel came to my rescue and asked me what I would like to do for fun. I think he understood that at such a young age I could not communicate to my parents that I was experiencing the wooziness that comes with jet lag. I promptly told my grandpa that I would like to play beauty shop! He replied that, although follicly challenged in places, he was willing to be my “client.” I began my craft with wild abandon.  I combed grandpa’s hair this way and that, making the most out of my opportunity to style a willing and compliant volunteer. So encouraged was I by my new found talent that I began to experiment with the tools of my trade. Before I knew it, I could not free the comb from grandpa’s hair. My efforts to tug only rewarded me with muted grunts of pain emanating from my grandpa’s chest. I realized with horror that I had  irreparably tangled the comb into my grandpa’s hair. My lower lip began to tremble as I knew this would surely land me in hot water and it was a matter of seconds before I was in hysterics; certain that I had ruined our holiday to the west coast. Before I knew it I had been shepherded into an adjacent room while the adults stewed about the best way to liberate grandpa from the fine tooth comb that had set up residence in his hair. In the end they had to cut the comb out. My parents were not happy with me for my little caper.  As I said before, that is to be expected from parents as they have not yet mellowed with time and learned to take things in stride. Grandpa, however, was the balm of forgiveness that day. He assured me that it was only hair; it would grow back. I am confident somewhere deep down inside grandpa knew the risks of letting his granddaughter loose with a fine tooth comb and an overactive imagination. You may wonder where the lesson is in this story little one, and so I will tell you. Grandparents are one of the greatest gifts that children receive. When your parents are frustrated and seemingly stumped with “what on earth they should do with you,” your wise grandparents already know the answer; hugs, kisses and soft reassurances that you are loved. Enjoy your grandparents little one, together you will create memories that will last a lifetime.