JANUARY 5, 2021 – Our five-year-old granddaughter loves doing puzzles when she visits. She also likes Northwoods nature.
There’ll come a day, I’m sure, a decade from now, when I’ll find Illiana sitting on the bench swing up at the lake, admiring the panoramic view. More accurately, I’ll assume she’s admiring the scenery as I approach from behind with a glass of lemonade for her.
Upon reaching the swing, however, I’ll discover she’s wearing crossword goggles, deeply engrossed in the “puzzle of the day,” downloaded from thin air.
“Jefferson,” she blurts out.
“What’s the clue?” I say.
“Hi, Grandpa,” she says cheerfully. “It’s ‘Author of the Declaration of Independence.’”
“Good!” I say, pleased that she knows what’s become a little-known fact.
“Today’s theme is American history,” she says, “and being around old people like you and Grandma sure helps out.”
“I see . . . brought you some lemonade.”
“Thanks, Grandpa . . .Wait just a sec. I need to get 18 across.”
“’Kay.” I look out over the sparkling water, contemplating my “old person” status.
“Hey, Grandpa,” she says. “What’s a word for the obsolete phrase, ‘I told you so’?”
“‘Obsolete’?”
“Yeah, the clue says—’obsolete phrase.’ As an old person, maybe you’ve heard of it?”
“Hmmm.” Wounded again by my grand-daughter’s perception of me based on . . . what, my sometimes arthritic gait? “Take those goggles off for a lemonade break” I continue, and I’ll tell you about that obsolete phrase. Maybe then you can figure out the word yourself.
“Sure, Grandpa,” says Illiana. That’s what I like about our granddaughter. However much she perceives my wife and me as old, she’s always liked hearing our stories. But come to think of it, maybe our constant story-telling is what makes us seem old.
“Back in the day,” I begin, “you could tell someone what would happen if they did something stupid; they’d say, ‘Nah!’ and do the stupid something anyway—with exactly the consequences you predicted; you’d then get to say, ‘I told you so.’
“It happened lots. Take a simple example. Your grandma and I’d be sitting on the dock on a breezy day, reading books made of paper. I’d set mine down to fetch some lemonade. Grandma’d say, ‘I wouldn’t leave that book on the dock if I were you—it’ll blow off’ and I’d say, ‘Nah, it’ll be fine.’ But sure enough, the wind would sweep the book right into the waves, and Grandma would get to say, ‘I told you so!’”
I suddenly realized that the main point I’d established was my age: “reading books made of paper”?!
“Got it,” Illiana says. “When did the phrase become obsolete?”
“Around the time Trump became president.”
She puts the goggles back on and studies the puzzle for a moment. “It’s a 10-letter word starting with ‘v,’ ending with ‘t-i-o-n,’” she reports.
“So . . . ?”
“I know!” she says gleefully. “Vindication!”
“You’ve always been good with words, Illiana,” I say, now really feeling my age.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
