DECEMBER 15, 2025 – When our oldest son, Cory, was young, if we wanted to get him to talk, we took him for a drive. Some of our most amazing conversations occurred in the car. I’m sure other parents have had similar experiences. After all, during a car ride, everyone in the car is a captive audience. If someone wants to talk, they know their audience can’t just get up and leave the room—and avoid what the speaker has to say.
Illiana, Cory’s 10-year-old daughter, has acquired her dad’s car talk trait and amped it up. Our rides—mostly between school and home—are never long enough. I love to hear her insights and observations about life. On the E.Q. scale, she’s way ahead of her age—of any age, really. But from a grandparent’s perspective these conversations are also a golden opportunity to . . . well, to grandparent but in a manner that’s laid back, not overbearing, and therefore, more likely to be effective.
Today was a fine example. But first, a bit of background . . .
I’ve learned to tone down my greeting when Illiana climbs into the car. Earlier this school year when I expressed my delight in seeing her (“Illiana! So great to see you!”), she peered over her eyeglasses and said in a monotone voice and with a scowl, “Grandpa. Way too much joy.”
It was something her dad would’ve said. I cut her a bit of slack. I apologized, but with a dash of humor. Before merging with other cars exiting the school parking lot, I used my hands to gesture calm and with lowered tone and volume said, “Ooookay. D-o-o-o-w-w-w-n-n with the . . . ahem! . . . joy. D-o-o-o-o-w-w-w-n-n-n.” After moving forward a few lengths, then braking for a line of school buses, I turned around in my seat and peering at Illiana, said, “And don’t you dare smile. Whatever you do, do not smile.”
It’s exactly the device I’d use on her dad multiple times—with a 100% success rate. On that occasion earlier this fall, it worked on Illiana—as it always does.
Back to today . . . I let Illiana settle in, fasten her seatbelt and start whatever conversation was to be had as we traversed the parking lot to the exit. Her few seconds of silence told me something was troubling her.
When we reached the curb cut, I asked, “School okay today?”
“I’m not saying.”
I knew enough not to pry, but I knew how to get her talking.
“Illiana, I didn’t have time today to get any cookie dough at the store. How ‘bout we get some on the way home so we can make cookies for Grandma?”
“Sure.”
“I thought so. I know you told me last week that you wanted to make Christmas cookies with Grandma. Given how she’s laid up now because of her fall, I’m not sure if she can help out much, but I’m willing to give it a try if you think that’ll work.”
En route, Illiana opened up about her day at school; kids making fun of her for crying when one kid had said something mean; one “loyal friend” standing up for her; another “less loyal friend” not. Her account of what must’ve been a trying incident was dispassionate. Recounting the unfortunate encounter seemed to work as an effective lidocaine patch on her bruised emotions.
On the approach to a traffic light, I worked on my response. When red turned green, I gave her my two cents’ worth.
“Illiana, I understand how you must’ve felt. People can be mean sometimes. Some people are just plain mean; others might not intend to be mean, but they say and do stuff that has the effect of being mean. Either way, people can make us feel bad and get us all worked up. But I’m a firm believer that if you look hard enough, you can find the positive, even in what appears to be nothing but negative.
“Believe it or not, I think there’s something positive in all that you’ve told me. Ya wanna hear it?”
“Sure.”
“Here goes: in feeling the way you did, you learned a very critical life lesson. You learned that how those kids treated you is definitely not the way people should treat one another. Knowing that, Illiana, and living that, will put you in very good stead as you go through life. If you always treat people the way you want to be treated, you will wind up with the best quality friends. And believe me, Illiana, the most valuable things in life is solid, reliable friendships.”
“Yeah, good people will trust you and want to be friends with you,” she said.
“Exactly. That’s the positive lesson to be taken from what happened today. I know you’re a good person, Illiana, and other people who know you know you’re a good person. Keep being yourself; be confident in your goodness, and you will have many good friends and you will do and experience many good things in life.”
A few minutes later, with the help of a courteous store employee, we found the refrigerated cookie dough. I let Illiana make the selection—peanut butter—to which she later added sprinkles and chocolate chips from our cupboards.
Before I drove into the garage, I let Illiana alight from the car. As she always does, she held her hand up and established eye contact with me before proceeding ahead of the car to the entrance into the house. Once in the clear, she motioned to let me know it was safe for me to proceed.
The kid’s going places, I thought, as I brought the car to a gentle stop inside the garage, and she will have a great wealth of friendships. What more could grandparents want for their grandchildren?
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
