Gentle Tapping Means A Big Problem
Several weeks ago, during a final summertime gathering at our family lake house, we gathered for dinner after a full day of sun, sand, boats and diving boards. Although not all our 12 grandchildren were present, there was enough exuberance for 12 tables.
With so many young grandkids, when dinner time comes, I try very hard to bring calm to the chaos. Now mind you, many of our grandkids are aged 3 and under. That means when we are all finally seated, the hope is no one throws their fork or flips their plate. The goal is to try to get to some semblance of intentional group conversation.
We sat together outside. The backdrop was lovely. The lake water rippled with life, the warm early evening winds felt cozy, and I felt particularly grateful. I took a seat at the long rectangular table. My 7-year-old granddaughter, Eileen pulled up into the seat next to me with her pink plastic plate and matching pink fork. I put my arm around her with love as I scanned the scene before me. As I so often do, I took a moment to rest in profound gratitude for the abundant family that surrounded me.
We held hands (well, maybe those in booster seats were already elbow deep in mac and cheese), centered ourselves with a group blessing, and then settled in to eat our family meal. Conversation was easy and varied. And then, channeling the Irish in me, I called everyone to order as I wanted to share a funny story that happened the other day. I put my fork down and began to tell the tale that needed a bit of background, of course. As I began presenting my account, I felt this tap on my arm. Eileen was trying to get my attention. I ignored her at first. The tapping continued.
“Eileen,” I whispered. “Hold on.”
I continued in my soliloquy, going on and on and on. The gentle tapping on my arm continued.
“Eileen,” I said, “just a sec,” after which Eileen’s parents supported me by gently reprimanding her. The tapping continued. I reached to take her hand in support not missing a beat in my monologue. Still, tap, tap, tap, tap in rapid fire.
As I was winding down on what was now a humdrum story, I turned my attention to my very persistent granddaughter.
“Eileen,” I finally said, “what is it?”
“Nona,” she said, leaning her face close to mine. She smiled that kind of smile when the dentist asks you say EEEEEE, and said, so the entire table could hear. “Nona, you have this big glob of green in your teeth.”
The entire table collapsed into laughter. Meanwhile, Eileen was not backing down. Her little finger was pointing to the problem, wanting so badly to just reach in and pick at my teeth. She would not relent until the culinary casualty was removed.
Truth be told, I didn’t care about the remnants of arugula caught up between my teeth. I continued to laugh through it. Rather, I loved Eileen’s persistence in wanting to take care of me. I mean, how many times do you wish someone had let you know when your t-shirt was inside out or when newly applied red lipstick was smeared all over your teeth. In other words, my granddaughter stepped into the role of pretty good friend.
Later, no one remembered the long-winded story I felt so compelled to tell. What we do remember, however is Eileen’s stubborn efforts to help her grandmother. Now when we dine together, if I feel the gentle tap on my arm, I’ll know we have a problem.