I consider myself fortunate to have a (to normal eyes) ludicrously extended family. We don't just have stepmothers and stepfathers - that's ordinary. We have relationships like 'my half sisters' half brother' and I once flummoxed my fellow students by telling them that for Christmas we would be at 'my stepmother's stepmother.' And so on. I have five siblings, all 'halves' whom I consider wholes. We have family get-togethers that would be unthinkable in other families, with two ex-wives, the current wife and all their offspring in the same room as my father, and everyone happy to be together.
What this requires, to make it work, is a generosity of spirit, and this was exemplified by my stepmother's mother, who was always very grandmotherly towards me. But she impressed me even more when my own baby was born. She took a surprisingly great interest in him. "I can see he's very intelligent", was her first remark on having seen an early photo of him, wrinkled and pink. I sent more photos and she rang me every time to say thank you. I would start normal conversations with her and she would stop me. "Tell me about the baby," she'd say and I would describe his swimming lessons, his fun in the doorway bouncer, about him learning to sit up. When she met him she focused all her attention on him and held him gently, her growing-frail arms tenderly wrapped about his not inconsiderable frame.
Tonight a candle burns on our table for a person who knew what it meant to be a real Great-Granny, and that blood ties had nothing to do with it.
What this requires, to make it work, is a generosity of spirit, and this was exemplified by my stepmother's mother, who was always very grandmotherly towards me. But she impressed me even more when my own baby was born. She took a surprisingly great interest in him. "I can see he's very intelligent", was her first remark on having seen an early photo of him, wrinkled and pink. I sent more photos and she rang me every time to say thank you. I would start normal conversations with her and she would stop me. "Tell me about the baby," she'd say and I would describe his swimming lessons, his fun in the doorway bouncer, about him learning to sit up. When she met him she focused all her attention on him and held him gently, her growing-frail arms tenderly wrapped about his not inconsiderable frame.
Tonight a candle burns on our table for a person who knew what it meant to be a real Great-Granny, and that blood ties had nothing to do with it.
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