The Graduate

 

My granddaughter, Makenna, has just graduated from high school. Not that long ago, she graduated from pre-school. I did a lot of childcare for Makenna and her little sister Sophia at our house in those early years. 

Sophia decided she'd wait awhile to start talking, leaving the conversation to a very chatty Makenna. Coincidentally, I was an active and prolific blogger during that period and I dedicated a few blog posts to Makenna's imaginative ramblings.   

High School graduation night

Pre-school graduation day

From June, 2011, Excessive Personal Service

Since becoming the treasurer for my homeowner's association, I'm spending more time at my local bank than I did before. I recently took Makenna on a banking excursion with me; hopefully an exciting prospect for her.

"I'm just going to deposit a check," I told her. "Won't take long at all."

Immediately upon entering the bank, Makenna and I are approached by an earnest-looking young man in a perfectly fitting, dark suit. He is eager to help us, and leads us to his intimate little banking table. There's no line at the tellers' window but the bank guy is apparently looking for something to do.

While I'm digging in my purse for the envelope with check and deposit slip, the bank guy starts a conversation with Makenna. She tells him she's nearly five, she tells him about pre-school and how it's hard to listen to the teacher, and then about some of her misgivings concerning kindergarten. The young man is charmed and seems to forget me entirely. He calls over a fellow banker person to bring round the basket of lollipops. Makenna is clearly impressed that banks carry lollipops. She comments that her favorite flavor is pink, and that her little sister, Sophia, can not have lollipops because she might choke.

The bank guy is finally ready to take my deposit, and he now makes the trip over to the teller himself presumably to save me the long walk. He doesn't wait for the teller to do this simple procedure, but comes back to the table and pulls up our HOA account. He begins to advise me about things I already know regarding required signatures and such. Slow day at the bank; excessively personal service. I do have a question about online banking and we take up bank talk.

Makenna decides it's time for full disclosure.

"She's not my mother," she informs the bank guy, "She's my grandmother." Makenna is not sure he understands, so she appeals to me, "Tell him I don't live at your house; I live at my house."

The young banker is fully in banker mode now and doesn't comment on this surprising news. He remembers to take the long walk back over to the teller's window and pick up my deposit slip. My won't take a minute bank deposit, turned comprehensive banking experience, is over and we're out the door.

"Well," I said, "Now you've been to the bank."

"Yes, but there were no fish in there."

"You were expecting fish?"

"You know, swimming around in tanks."

"I'll take it up with the bank guy."

Makenna with fish at the zoo

From October, 2010,  Highbrow Halloween

On a recent drive home to Makenna’s house, she informed me that she wants to be an opera singer when she grows up. She followed her announcement with a logical question.

“What is an opera singer, Grandma?”

I’m probably not the right person to ask. I don’t properly appreciate opera myself, but I did attend the opera for two seasons at one point in my married life because my husband had always wanted to go. I thought it might at least be interesting to see what the moneyed class was wearing to the opera, but instead of getting to flounce about in the lobby, I spent every intermission in a very long line for the ladies’ bathroom. I did enjoy the flashy arias that even common people like, but the rest was filler. Hence, in response to Makenna’s question, Nessun Dorma, an aria from the final act of Puccini's opera Turandot, immediately came to mind.           

I did my best opera singer impression, trying for that shaky voice quality, vibrato, which of course, is always done at top volume.  

Makenna’s assessment, “You are a terrible opera singer, Grandma.”

I admit to her that I am a terrible opera singer. I’m also thinking that she’s just had an early childhood experience that might forever ruin her ability to appreciate opera. Apparently not; she says she’s going to be an opera singer for Halloween. I’m relieved that she hasn't lost her enthusiasm, but I thought she was going to be a cat. The idea of an opera singing cat costume was probably my suggestion. 

I’m inspired to launch into Nessun Dorma again, this time substituting meow for lyrics I don’t know anyway. I did keep the volume down as a concession to Makenna’s sensibilities. She doesn’t like this performance any better than the first but is nevertheless getting more and more excited about being an opera singing cat for Halloween. She can’t wait to tell her mother. I leave it at that; let her mother sort it out. 

Ready to sing the aria

Opera Singing Cat

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