DECEMBER 9, 2023 – Friday morning it was “Sassafras” who showed up—fairly late—at the back door. Under her North Face down parka was her unicorn gown, and under that, her new Korean kitty-kat PJs courtesy of “K-Grand Aunt.” Beth reminded me that it was “Pajama Day” at school.
Apparently our granddaughter had had a rough start to her day, but Beth and I soon converted her scowl—so incongruous with her attire—to a smile. All three of us laughed at how quickly this occurred.
By way of background, two data points: FIRST, the other evening, out the blue, Illiana asked me to pull up a chess game app on my laptop. The request surprised me, since I’m not a chess player and wasn’t aware that she had had any prior exposure to the game. I do know the rudiments of chess, however. For a few minutes before her ride home (dad) appeared, Illiana and I made several moves, in the course of which I explained the attributes of each piece. The next day, she again asked about chess but time didn’t allow us to play. Her interest resonated with me. I’ve long wished to learn something about chess and figured it would be a good thing for us to learn together. SECOND, every morning that we have chauffeuring duties, I remind Illiana that after school I’ll be asking, “Tell one thing that you learned today.”
Accordingly . . .
. . . this morning when I said, “Illiana, after school . . .” she went into scowl mode. But when I finished my sentence with “we’ll have to reserve time for chess!” a smile burst out. I laughed. Beth laughed. Best of all, Illiana laughed—and laughed more when I imitated repeatedly her scowl-to-smile. The instant transformation reminded me of a day when the sky is in quick transition from clouds and sun. Often this occurs on the heels of a squall or when a front moves through, and a fair wind blows a scowling cloud aside to give the sun center stage.
Moments later, “Sweetie Pie” gave Grandma a pleasant good-bye and rushed ahead of me to the car. With my captive audience buckled inside the car, I asked what she’d thought of the Zoom conference (WPI board meeting) she’d observed late yesterday afternoon.
“Good,” she said.
Careful not to fall into lecture mode, I nonetheless prattled on for a bit about the importance of joining organizations that benefit society; that “do-good” organizations abound and how I hoped she’d join one or several when she got older.
“Are there organizations about horses?” she asked.[1] The question surprised me. Illiana is not “into” horses. Unicorns? Yes; horses, no.
“There’s an organization for everything,” I said. Mindful that the cat motif dominates her artwork and that four felines have the run of her abode, I added, “Cats, for example. There are organizations for the rescue of kitty-cats.”
“Yeah, cats!” she said. “That’s the organization I want to join.”
“Absolutely! That would be perfect for you,” I said. Ya gotta meet people where they are, I thought in a nod to conventional wisdom.
Before I knew it we were pulling into the school parking lot. A few older kids were alighting from cars but those students, apparently, were not celebrating “Pajamas Day.” When I noted this to Illiana, she informed me that only her class was participating. Just then, we saw another kid slide out out of the backseat of a car. She was definitely wearing pajamas—flannel ones—and a thick bathrobe with the belt loose and in extreme peril of being left behind somewhere on the pavement between the car and the school entrance.
“Olivia!” Illiana shouted with glee. Obviously a friend and classmate.
In an instant Illiana had unbuckled herself and slung on her over-stuffed backpack. As she struggled to the curb side of the car to let herself out, she looked like a scuba diver with double tanks trying to exit a small boat through a port hole. I hit the unlock button just as she reached the door handle. At the same time, I lowered the windows so she’d be able to hear my usual send-off.
Her flippers . . . er, boots . . . hit the pavement before I could say “Smile, be kind, pay attention in class.” I had to settle for “Love you!” as she dashed to intercept Olivia at the entrance—unicorn robe rushing to catch up with the kitty-kat pajamas. I let the car roll a few feet farther and braked when I was straight out from the entrance. By that time the girls were long down the hallway. Standing beside the open doorway was the teacher with greeting duties. Her smile at me communicated her own amusement over the robe-pajama attire of the two young friends. I smiled back and said, “Gosh but I love second grade!”
“So do I,” she said.
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
[1] I like her re-use of the word, “organizations.” It made the second-grader sound so grown up. (In an instantaneous lightning search of my memory, I couldn’t find any recollection of having uttered the word before I was in high school. Even now with an advanced search, “organization” is a no-show.)
