I’m accustomed to dining alone in restaurants, smiling at small children and making faces at babies while their elders chat and eat.
Seldom do I feel jealous of their familial camaraderie, but sometimes, I hear,
“Nana, sit here. Sit by me!”
“No, I get to sit by Nana. Right, Nana?”
And I long for those days when my grandchildren argued over who would get to sit next to me, the revered Nana, at a meal.
I watched yesterday as two young children clamored to share space with their Nana at lunch. I bit my tongue to keep from saying “Lucky you!” to the Nana being fought over. I wanted to encourage her to savor this time. All too soon these children would be teenagers obsessed with their iPhones or grumbling that they’re bored and they’d rather be with friends or hurrying through lunch because they couldn’t be late for some activity.
Nowadays, when I’m lucky enough to dine with my grandkids, I resist saying,”I want to sit by Garrett￼￼ (or McKayla or Dominique or Jackson or Harper)” because that just wouldn’t be cool, but I sure think about it.