The G-Word

I was not surprised to read in a recent interview with Ivana Trump that she makes her grandchildren call her "Glamma." What shocked me was that she admitted to having grandchildren at all. I know several grandmothers--mothers of my mommy friends--who detest "the G-word" and, far from bragging about their grandchildren or shoving baby photos in your face, would prefer to pretend that they didn't exist, at least publicly. Their grandchildren call them by their first names or cute-but-nonagenarian nicknames. These are busy, active women with jobs, graduate degrees, home gyms, facelifts, highlights, bifocal contacts, and more social and volunteer commitments than they can store in their iPhones.

They're not evil; we live in an ageist society, and the traditional stereotype of the home-bound, cookie-baking, sweater-knitting, elderly, wrinkled, blue-haired grandmother is in dire need of updating. Maybe it never existed at all; even in her eighties, my late, blue-haired grandmother preferred watching college football and doing water aerobics to baking cookies. My other grandmother, also in her eighties and not a blue (or gray) hair in sight, loves baking cookies, although it's hard for her to find the time in her busy schedule of shopping, traveling, instant messaging, and going to Broadway shows.

Fortunately for The Roc, both of his grandmothers embrace their role--and the title that comes with it--gracefully. They may have jobs and home gyms, but they always have time for baking cookies.