Virtual Nonny

To say 2020 was a challenging year would be an understatement! Many of us were separated from our loved ones across the miles or even across the backyard. Unable to visit in person or give much needed hugs, we adapted to maintaining relationships through a telephone or on a screen. It was disheartening and painful to watch the unmasked continue to act as if there was no pandemic while people were dying in droves. Those who kept traveling, visiting, gathering, endangering and prolonging this situation for the rest of us was maddening. For me, the struggle has been curtailing my harsh judgment, disdain and loss of respect for people I’ve known and loved for years.

My daughter and her family live 2500 miles away. I was there in March, 2020 just before things shut down. For a long while, we didn’t know when it would feel safe to travel again. I became quite neurotic about keeping myself safe—just in case—one of them got sick and needed me.

Like other families balancing work/family life, having even one child home 24/7 and adding a virtual school element was an added struggle. Simple tasks such as having an adult conversation without probing ears, or making a grocery list became a chore. Not to mention keeping him busy during work hours or zoom meetings.

I have never touted my technological skills but thanks to my savvy four-year-old grandson helping an old lady out, I became a pretty good virtual grandma. Nonny, to be exact. My daughter suggested I switch out my Android phone for an IPhone so we could more easily use the FaceTime App. We found out I could entertain my grandson over FaceTime while his parents took a breath. Sometimes, we stayed on the phone for three or four hours at a time, the only pandemic babysitter they had.

I loved seeing the excitement in his eyes when I’d learned the names of his Rescue Bot toys. He taught me about transformers, superheroes, construction equipment and more. The phone with my face on the screen became a stand-in for me. He placed “me” on the back of a toy racecar and squealed, “Hold on, Nonny!” Virtually, I zoomed around his home (seeing only the ceiling go by), went with him into hiding places, cuddled on the couch or simply sat on a shelf and watched while he transformed from vehicle mode to robot. I’ve even been allowed to accompany him in time out. In his room, under his bed or under a blanket tent, he shared with me his feelings (very self-aware), something I may not have gotten in person—especially when he was mad at the adults in his life. On the phone, far away, I became his safe buddy. In some ways, the intimacy that comes with remote communication changes the grandparent dynamic. Sometimes, I’m more playmate than disciplinarian. Yet, I can tell there are certain topics he shields from me that he tells his Mom. My status as grandparent is flexible. I initially tried to use the opportunity for educational flash cards and to play school and read books but typical boring grandma stuff wasn’t going to fly with the boy for long. He needed a playmate who understood his obsession with Bumble Bee the Transformer.

By the time he was five, he could spell and do complicated math. For a while, rather than FaceTime, we texted on his mother’s phone. He could put together complete sentences. He liked to surprise me by choosing the most popular intuitive word choice that popped up in the bar and see what sentences we could make. I responded by doing the same with my phone. In this way, I also learned about my daughter’s conversations with her friends, which was an interesting perk. He learned how to send me filtered pictures that looked like cartoons. I asked him how to do it and he texted me step by step directions how to use my iPhone to use emoji’s, photo filters and more. We started taking regular pictures around the house and then adding artistic drawings on them. For instance, a Santa Clause hat on a picture of my cat. Or, his drawing a white beard on his own face. His directions were superb, not like an impatient teenager who just whizzes through the steps for you without teaching anything. This kid is a natural born teacher.

The first time I masked up for a visit after vaccines, he kept reaching out to touch my face, “I can’t believe you’re really here!” he said.

He’s seven now, but still thousands of miles away. We still FaceTime. He calls almost daily. If even a few days go by without contact, I witness great strides in his intelligence and understanding. By virtue of his level of sophistication our games have become more elaborate.

He tells me he is “the director, the producer, the stage hand and one of the actors. Nonny, you are all the other actors,” he says with a laugh. And, director, he is. He has scripts in his head with elaborate costuming detail that we imagine. It is important to him that I have in my head exactly what he sees in his mind’s eye. The colors of a dragon, its eye color, wing span, special powers. The way his Werewolf character still has wolf ears and sometimes a tail when she is in human mode but also what color and how long her hair is and what she wears. Whether I am a black panther that can turn into a human or maybe a hyena or even a hamster, there is a script. If I ad-lib too much he cuts the scene, instructs me on his vision and then says “Action”.  We have named this game “Schizophrenic” because of all the personalities I have to take on. He snickers every time he tells me my next role. It’s part of his fun to shock me and more fun for him if I act shocked. I have been any number of animals, teachers, friends, transformers, mythical creatures. Whatever his imagination (or the latest video game, movie or television show) introduces, I become.

My favorite game is YouTube or Podcast. In the first, my boy demonstrates a skill he has learned and I am his audience. His introduction, ability to break down the steps, and his warnings what “not to try at home” are hilarious and spot on. In Podcast, he is the star of the show and I am the guest. We go back and forth with questions like an interview. With this game, even though we are playing characters, I learn how is day has been, the highlight of his week, who his new friend is, what he has been watching. It’s like a real conversation for me but because “talking is boring for kids” podcast makes it a game he will play.

“Google Black Princess Dragon,” he says. Or, “Look up images for the Tails character on the Sonic Movie”. I have done my research, let me tell you. This Nonny, in my own adult home with no children around may be caught watching “Sonic”, or “How to Train Your Dragon” or “Transformers”.  “Have you seen Spongebob?” he asks. “In this scene, your house looks like Sandy’s.”

In real life, I live in my family’s third generation farmhouse. I’ve found myself walking in my parents (and grandparents’) footsteps on many occasions. This year, my garden would make my father proud. Every time I can tomatoes or freeze corn I think of my mom. In some ways, I believed my grand-parenting days would be more traditional, more like theirs, more in person and hands on, passing on my love for the earth, gardening, flowers and nature walks. But children don’t stay near their birthplaces like they did in older generations. Loads of grandparents live long distances from their children and grandchildren. Though I think there is value in family groupings, these days, that way of life seems obsolete. Sometimes I lament that I don’t have the weekend sleepovers, the after school visits, but I do have some things other grandparents don’t. Our relationship is far from traditional but very special, even across the miles.

Adjusting my expectations, allowing my grandson’s natural understanding of technology to pull me along, maybe I’m not as obsolete as I feel. I resist technology on many fronts, but if it weren’t for FaceTime, I would be missing so much of his childhood. We would have figured this out sooner or later, but it seems the pandemic pushed us to learn how to keep in touch in this new way. A way that, to his generation, comes naturally. When swapping grandchild stories with my friends, though our hands on experiences are much different, our exhaustion levels are about the same. It’s hard work to be a panther who turns into a boy with a hyena for a brother, and school friends who are snakes, hamsters, dragons or werewolves, without eating one another! I don’t know many grandmothers who know this.

I have always been one to look for silver linings. There is a word spreading across social media for when you find a tiny piece of joy in the world. Glimmers. This boy, this brightly shining light, is one of my best glimmers.