Oh, they grasp, intellectually, that Grandma was once a girl. But in the mental picture of Grandma playing in the sandbox, she has gray hair and liver spots.
Whenever Valentine’s Day approaches, it’s especially hard for young people to imagine that the older people in their lives were ever young. Young and foolish. Young and giddy. Young and over-the-moon, goose-bumpy, heart-floppy, absolutely crazy in love.
That’s partly the fault of us grownups. We spend our parenting years sniffing in distaste, shaking our (graying) heads and saying things like, “In my day, we never did that!”
But blame is not today’s topic. Human nature is. Young humans just can’t picture old folks as young folks in love. The very thought of it makes them cringe.
I remember vividly the time my girlchild, then a fifth-grader, looked up from a TV program to ask, “Mama, do you and Daddy ever, er, uh, er, kiss?”
“Every chance we get,” I responded with what I hoped was a mischievous grin.
Her face contorted in shock, then horror. “Ew, gross!” she said with a shudder, turning back to the TV.
Chances are, I’d have gotten the same response if, as a girl, I’d asked my own mother the same question. Instead, I did what most young people do. I tried not to think about it, lest I, too, erupt with, “Ew, gross!”
As I’ve reflected on this a little, I realize that it’s also hard for those of us who are “mature” adults to think of our elders as young and in love. In our memories, they are, mostly, frozen in time as the old people they were when we were young.
My sainted maternal grandmother was, well, a grandmother when I first met her. She was beautiful to me, but truth be told, she had lines on her face, a matronly waistline and what we politely called “beauty parlor hair.” My grandfather had died before I was born, and she never remarried. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t imagine her young and in love, it never occurred to me - then or since - that she might have been. No, must have been.
Until I found the photo.
Sifting through a box crammed with pictures of generations of our family, I came across a faded, black and white photograph I’d never seen. Or, more likely, never noticed.
A mixed group of young adults in 1920s vintage clothing appear to be on an outing. The women are wearing long coats and one of the men has what looks to be a felt hat in his hand. They are standing on rustic-looking wooden steps leading to some sort of rough, wooden platform. My farm upbringing leads me to think it’s near a feed lot or some such ordinary place.
There’s nothing ordinary about the look on my grandmother’s beaming face. She smiled at me regularly, but I never saw that smile. There’s a prettiness about her and a joy behind her eyes that never came from making pies or sewing dresses or, even, growing flowers. You can almost hear a girlish giggle bubbling up in her smooth throat, tinkling merrily past real teeth - no need for dentures.
The object of her merriment is a handsome young fellow standing close enough for their shoulders to touch. They had to crowd together for the photo, understand. His smile is less broad, a little shy perhaps, but his gaze is strong and, well, welcoming. He looks like a man very glad to be rubbing shoulders with a smiling, dark-haired. …
“Oh, my goodness,” I said to myself, a breath-taking realization flooding over me.
Oh, my goodness. They are in love! The camera doesn’t lie.
Oh, my goodness, I’ve seen my grandparents young. And in love.
My grandmother lived to be 82. Over the years, I saw her in countless maternal roles. I knew, without doubt, that she was a loving woman. But I never had the opportunity - or the imagination - to see her as a woman in love. Never thought of asking her “Did you and Granddaddy ever, uh, kiss?”
My advice to young lovers this Valentine’s Day? Enjoy the moment, but remember you didn’t invent love. Use your imagination. Love is not ageless, but it is truly timeless.
And be sure to make some pictures.
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