I have some not-so-fond memories of one of my grandfathers. He enjoyed sitting me down and lecturing me on how I was living my life all wrong and that I needed to improve (when I was young and a good-ish child, mind you). I remember one particular instance where I was in view of a large plate glass window and I could envision myself picking up the small ottoman and throwing it through the window at that gorgeous view. I didn't do it. I really wanted to, but I didn't follow through on that fantasy. More than one sibling has reminded me that free advice should go in one ear and out the other, but also to be kind to the person giving it. However, because I have to carefully consider everything that people tell me, I am unable to do the "water off a duck's back" part.
I feel things deeply and don't know how not to. So, when a roommate lectures me on what a horrible person I am, I tend to listen and feel really poorly about myself. After the lecture I go to my room and think. And maybe cry. Do I really do the horrible things the roommate accuses me of or is this just their perception? Are they wrong? Do I need to work on this thing they have issues with? Or am I fine as I am?
This is the same process for my yearly job review (I hate these and believe they are counter-productive and only exist to make you miserable, and I do NOT think they're a "necessary evil"), advice from friends and family, things yelled at me by rude passers-by when I'm trying to lug my groceries into my house, the insults from the panhandlers when I pass them by, though I do have to mention that I laughed internally when someone seriously tried to insult me by calling me a "God-monger" under their breath.
Being raised in a family that had to be Right was a multi-generational issue; hence my grandfather trying to be the family patriarch and insulting me to my core whenever possible. He truly believed he was helping. It was his job, so he thought, to "grandparent" me. But he wasn't my parent. If he thought I was that horrible, he probably should have spoken to my parents about how they were raising me. I don't see that ever going over well, though, so this grandfather took it upon himself to guide me. My parents didn't stop it, as far as I knew. So I felt really guilty when my grandfather died because I loved my other grandfather so much more. My other grandfather just loved me. He just loved all of us. And we knew it. There was no question of his love. He never sat me down to tell me that I should dress differently or always wear my hair up or whatever. He just radiated love.
This is what I wish all grandparents did. So, whenever I hear anyone complaining about their grandchildren and how they're living horrible lives and someone has to do something, I ask them not to lecture and share my experience. Lecturing won't help. And if the parents have been lecturing their children, a generation older really ain't gonna help. If the grandparent is raising that child because of absentee parents, then that's different. They have to stand in that parental role. But don't "grandparent." It's not a thing and it will never be popular in this culture.
Ask yourself: when and if my grandparents lectured me, did it stick? Did I respect them for it? Did I love them more for doing it? If all those answers are "yes," then you'll probably do it anyway. But I'd wait for the grandchildren to come to you for advice because when people ask for advice they are more apt to take it. And if you don't like what's going on with your grandchildren...isn't that a reflection of your own parenting skills in a roundabout kinda way?
As an aunt, I've never been allowed to parent my siblings' children (though I'm sure I tried a few times before I got that well-deserved talking-to and I apologize if I am still perceived as doing it as I really don't mean to). I'd like to stay not-the-parent of other people's children. But I do love discussions and conversations. NOT lectures. And living by example: that's a great one. And loving my siblings' children unconditionally. And giving hugs and telling them I love them no matter what. And embarrassing them by hugging them a ton whenever I see them because I don't see them that often. Love, I believe, is what we should do. Leave lecturing to professors and parents. And it's easier to lecture grandchildren, I think, then to believe that maybe you failed as a parent with your own children.
As for my grandfather that I don't love as much as I'd like: I still sometimes think about that advice, but only on rare occasions like a little over a week ago as I was walking to church. In my head I remembered that when I wear a skirt and blouse they apparently "cut you off in the middle and make you look shorter." Probably, but dresses don't fit me well and I'd rather look like I have a figure, even if it makes me look shorter, than look like I'm wearing a variation of a potato sack. So there. Hmph. Yeah, gotta let. that. go.
A major surprise when I was no longer a young child: my grandfather did love me more than I thought (though he did start saying "I love you" first when saying goodbye on the phone near the end of his life, which was a HUGE accomplishment). When living with a cousin my freshman year of college we discovered that our grandfather would praise us to our cousins, but not to our faces. I would have preferred being praised to my face instead of behind my back. All of us (cousins, too) didn't personally know that he was proud of us.... Well, maybe the cousins that lived nearby. Maybe they knew. But those of us that lived states away? Nope. And for any of my sibs who were directly told he was proud of them, please don't tell me. I don't want to KNOW that he loved you more, even though I may suspect it. Please forever keep me in the dark about that favoritism.
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