4 Life Lessons I Learned from My Toddler Grandson

As a grandmother and a reasonably prudent woman of a certain age, I'm supposed to have a store of wisdom by this point in my life. I have, indeed, garnered a ton of knowledge; but my toddler grandson may have already surpassed me in the wisdom department. He's a smart little guy. Really he is. He's only two, but he's given me a lot to think about.

If you've ever been close friends with a toddler, you know that the word "terrible," is often paired with the two-year milestone. Two is often defined by stubborn confrontations, crying, embarrassing fits in the grocery store, and frustration for everyone within toddler earshot. Now that my grandson has crossed over into the three year old realm, he's kicked that behavior into high gear.

Toddler tantrums aside, during moments of clarity, my grandson has shared many meaningful life lessons. Here are just a few:

1- Don't just sit there. Do something!
For months, my grandson, his parents, and grandma, of course, have been engaged in the poo-poo war. Ask, order or beg, he would only warn us about a pending "pee" or "poo" if he was in the correct mood. Those two little words led to pulling down his pants, sitting on his potty and staying there until the deed is done. There's no fun in that.

My grandson has wisely realized that doing something -- anything -- is better than just sitting around doing nothing, especially on a potty. He'd rather dance, sing, run through the house, or play with his two Big birds, his two Mickey Mouse softies, or his family of rubber duckies. He's completely potty trained now, but poo-poo war continues; because doing something really is better than just sitting.

2- Two is better than one
Yes, I said two Big Birds, two Mickey Mouse softies, and... Thanks to gifting relatives, my grandson has multiple pairs of several toys (and four Elmos). In most cases, one is big and the other is little; so for identification purposes, he calls them "big Mickey" and "little Mickey," or "big rubber duckie," and "little rubber duckie," or "big Big Bird and little Big Bird." If he misplaces a toy-- big or little-- his tiny toddler world breaks down until he finds it.

My grandson has cut to the heart of an important fact of life. Two is better than one. Hat-wearing women usually have at least one big hat to keep out the sun and a little one for style. The guys I know would be thrilled with a little car for commuting and a big car for show. And now that I think about it, the bible says it best: "Two are better than one..." Wow, what a smart little boy!

3- Try a new food at least once. You might like it.
Long before my grandson became a citizen of the Kingdom of Terrible Twos, his parents began introducing him to their vegetarian favorites. As a compliant grandma, I fed him " 'cado" (avocado), tofu, and "yooo-gurt" on demand. He says "no" to 'cado these days -- that's what two-year-olds do --but he still eats it by the spoonful, because he learned to like it before he learned to say "no."

4- Just say "No"!
Speaking of no. The late Nancy Reagan is credited with authorship of the 1986 slogan, "Just say no," but toddlers were saying "no" long before she made it a kid's anti drug mantra.

Like any opinionated toddler, my grandson says "no" to food, clothing, standing up, sitting down, going to bed, getting out of bed, using the potty... and just about everything else. Although his "no" really means "yes" sometimes.

Hmmm... Perhaps he's a pint-sized politician in the making.

Originally published on Yahoo Voices

"You Must be the Babysitter"

 

No, I'm not the babysitter

Soon after my grandson was born, I wondered how long it would take before I received my first brown grandmother insult. I expected it to come from a stranger, and that's pretty much what happened. 

My grandson's skin is a fair. His hair is straight, and he's obviously Asian. Whenever I pushed his stroller through a shopping mall, I half expected to be questioned by the mall police as a suspected kidnapper. Fortunately that never happened.

But one day when I was at my daughter's home, I answered the door. My curious. two-and-a-half year old grandson followed me to the door, and I scooped him up into my arms. Then the guy on the porch tossed out an insult so casually, I wasn't even sure if it was an insult at all. 

"Hi," he said, "you must be the babysitter." 

He was a salesman, marketing the new and exciting fiber optic cable connection door-to-door. I decided that he didn't know any better, so I sucked in a little air, smiled at him and listened while he rattled on about clear reception. I even took his card, thanked him, promised to give the information to Mr. Chang, and closed the door. 

It just felt wrong

Like I said, I'm not even sure if it was an insult, but it just felt wrong. It was actually less about me not being a babysitter than it was about the guy not thinking before he opened his mouth.

He assumed that I was a babysitter because of my skin color. It never occurred to him that I might be the little boy's grandmother and that I just happened to be brown. 

"But you're brown Grandma!"

It was just a few months ago that my grandson first started noticing that some people had darker skin than his. It started when he noticed that I was brown and he wasn't.

Over his two & a half years, my grandson had lived in a closed environment that included only family--his African American mom (my daughter) and his Asian dad (my son-in-law) me, his brown Grandma, and occasionally his Asian grandparents. Only after he'd started preschool, did he begin noticing the differences.

"But you're brown, Grandma...," he told me one day. That's when I realized how complicated life could be for a biracial toddler.

We were sitting at the bottom of the steps, reading a book about becoming a big brother. He pointed to an illustration of a pale-faced little boy and asked, "Is that me?"

"It could be," I told him.

"Where are you, Grandma?" he asked. I pointed to the lady standing near the little boy in the book. "But you're brown, grandma," he said. "That's not you. You're not white. You're brown."

I had nothing to say. I was stunned into silence by a two year old.

My grandson wasn't initiating a toddler discussion about race. To his little eyes and mine, it was a simple matter of color, like the difference between a red and blue crayon in a Crayola box.

He's Blasian

I was brown, and he was white. Of course he's not really white. His mom and dad have no idea where he might have picked up that piece of information. My grandson is what his parents lovingly call Blasian (Black & Asian). (He has a shirt that says it and everything.) But I'm just about sure one of his little preschool classmates must have nudged him into thinking about his skin and mine and how different they were.

My little Blasian grandson has a beautifully rich almost pale golden skin color. He's got Asian-esque eyes and straight hair. He's a beautiful mix of his parent's heritage, but they never intended to discuss any of these things--especially not skin color--until at least a few years into the future. It's just another one of those parenthood surprises.

So that was the beginning of my thinking of myself as Brown Grandma. Each day with my grandson, and now my granddaughter, there's a growing list of stories and anecdotes. And I intend to share them with you.