On Becoming Oma

It’s weird being the same age as old people. Have you heard that expression? I’m thinking of buying the t-shirt. So weird. When I look at pictures of my graduating class in the alumni magazine, I think – whoa! They sure look old. And occasionally a mirror catches me off guard and I judge my own appearance the same way. Who is that lady?

My first grandchild is going to call me “Oma.” That’s what I called my Dutch grandparents, Oma and Opa; but they were OLD! Oma would come stay with my sisters and I whenever our parents went on a trip. She always had a Heath bar in her purse for “emergencies”. She always wore a dress with silk stockings and dusted her black thunderbird with a special cloth every morning. Oma wore glamorous peignoirs to bed which, seemed odd to me at the time considering how ancient she was. And I just did the math - it’s not good. She was only in her fifties!

Oma never lost her temper or her patience with the three of us and we were a handful. For some reason we always behaved for Oma. She made us want to please her. I didn’t know who she voted for or much about her life when she wasn’t at our house. I just knew she had my back. She was quietly strong, a safe haven and a source of chocolate. I’m really hoping I can live up to that job description. Wish me luck.