Ah, summertime, when a grandparent thinks of ways to pass on the wisdom of the ancestors to impressionable youth. There will be jaunts to the countryside where we can teach the hard-won lessons and values of our forebears who tilled the soil and raised sturdy families.
Ah, summertime, when a grandchild imagines the sweet freedom from the tedium of classrooms while enjoying long weeks of swimming, games, and texting while in the proximity of non-interfering grandparents.
Right.
The grandparents will be useful for the boring basics: food, clothing, and shelter, but be aware of the grandchild who claims to be searching for self-actualization. The kindergartner version will not quite be aware of this, but the older one who was probably paying attention at least a little bit in class or on YouTube will cite Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs along with some Greek mythology. They learn things, therefore they will be smug. But that’s OK, because the grandparent will sagely take the whippersnapper down a notch, with love.
The geezers will happily provide the basics of the hierarchy while weaving in some lessons in self-actualization. Yes, kiddos, while you’re staying with us, we will feed you as well as teach you how to make some banana bread, fry an egg, and clean the pans. We’ll happily take you to the thrift store where you can get some summer attire, plus give you lessons with a needle and thread because we’re not spending over $100 for shredded jeans at the mall, young lady. And yes, you shall have shelter as long as you are staying with us, in addition to mastering the different kinds of mops and their various fascinating uses.
Wily children may look for ways to finesse these requirements, so be aware. Their concept of self-actualization (summer fun) is likely to be hours and hours of video games. If you’ve already acquired and installed a game system, then I’m not sure you can be helped. You’ve brought this on yourself with your misguided generosity. If you haven’t allowed one in the house, then don’t let them bring their own preferred platform. There is no substitute for shelves and shelves of books, magazines, and family photo albums.
It’s possible that your library will contain little interest to your grandchildren. Admit it. That Proust you’ve been meaning to get to? They certainly won’t. But make sure you have some (age-appropriate) volumes that they might pick up. Visit your hometown bookstore. If you have nothing but disdain for graphic novels, well, get over it and add to your collection. Books about movies and sports might draw interest once they’ve accepted that there will be no PlayStation or social media in the house. Seed your shelves with some classics and poetry as well. I remember being a youngster and finding a book of American poetry, most of which I now realize was wretched. But how will you know what’s good unless you experience what’s bad?
Speaking of movies, good or bad, make sure they get to watch some old black and white films. Maybe they’ll be inspired to dance like Jimmy Cagney, or talk like Mae West. These are skills they can take back to school in the fall. You could even let them take one of your old, no-longer-used smart phones to make short films. They can learn about lighting, sound, editing, frustration, and continuity.
And of course, you’ll want to plan how conversations will go during those stretches when you go on long drives to bucolic overlooks and family cemeteries. Remember: no devices except for cameras! Go fishing and talk about worms. Explain paper maps and the rules of campfires. You can tell them stories of eccentric great aunts, wartime enlistments and/or demonstrations, blown opportunities, terrible/wonderful cars you had, your first job and subsequent injuries, and that time you almost…well, you get the idea.
In the event all else fails, remember that sodas are a tool of diplomacy. And you can make a deal with them to reprogram your remote so that you don’t have to think about it ever again. If that’s as good as it gets, well, it’s not so bad.