I called my grandma "Grandmother". Somehow, the name seemed to fit the little woman with golden hair piled atop her head. She had a Dame Wendy Hiller voice and an archy eyebrow when she was displeased. We whispered in her house and sat quietly on the sofa with our hands folded in our laps, buh-LEEVE me.We didn't have a lot of elders in the family, so Grandmother was the only one, and passed away when I was 13.
When we had children, husband's parents became Oma and Opa since they were German, and mine became Granddaddy and Grammy.
So it was a big question what I wanted to be called when I became a grandma. Grandmother? Grandma? Grammy? Granny? Nana? All perfectly reasonable.
Having been called "Cookie" on the Sea Scout Ship Odyssey, it is a truth that what is in a name can influence people. There's a huge difference in the reactions I get when I use different names. All I have to do is put on huge skirts of my reenactor dresses from the 1850's, put a bun in my hair, go by my given name of Victoria and I'm curtsied to as if I am the queen. Hang out in the galley, surrounded by heavenly cooking aromas, and everyone wants to hug Cookie.
So I wanted a name that was yummy. Sweet. Huggable. When I was little, I used to call my snuggle blanket: "Nonni". Sounds like what we used to call sliced bananas with milk on them: nonnies and cream. It was a comfort food to me, like cinnamon toast and tea on Sunday evening.
My son-in-law said: "You want to be called a banana?"
"Yes, I like bananas," I declared. "It means security blanket too."
It was only later that I found that the Italian word for Grandma was Nonni. See? It was meant to be, even though I have not a drop of Italian in me. Who cares? Pretty country.
So when the other set of grandparents were getting ready for the new grandtwins, we asked them what they wanted to be called. After struggling to find just the right appellation, I was curious as to what they came up with.
"Why, Grandma and Grandpa, of course!" said the other grandma. After a moment, it occurred to her that we might not have chosen that title. "What do YOU want to be called?" she asked.
"I want to be called Nonni," I said.
It was then that my husband committed humorous suicide. It was just too funny to pass up. Had to do it, caution to the wind, it may stick forever, but he went for it just to see their faces. "Yeah, and I want to be NEENER," he laughed.
I suspect that Grandmother in heaven and Victoria both arched an eyebrow simultaneously, and that might have had something to do with the fact that our children have decided to stick to formality and have the grandtwins call him Opa.
I think the dog refers to him as Neener though. Dogs enjoy a good laugh.
