They’ll grow up so quickly— and then move to Bophuthatswana and forget about me
This took some getting used to, because I generally think of myself as around 22 years old and have no idea why sane people trust me with serious responsibilities.
This cataclysmic shift meant I had to endure various indignities, including lots of jokes about Geritol vitamins, knitting needles, and rocking chairs.
In fact, I simply couldn’t picture myself as a Bubby, Babby, Grandma, Nana, Bonmama, or even Savta. Then a friend crowned me “Savti,” and this moniker stuck, even through several tumultuous encounters at the olive wood store in Meah Shearim when the proprietor refused to inscribe an improperly spelled name. Sheesh.
I feel that I have a responsibility to my fellow youthful grandmothers, so I try my best to dress the part and appear energetic and joyful, even as I wonder whether the first dance at weddings has become at least 20 minutes longer than it used to be.
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