How was your relationship with your grandparents?

Remember both sides, mother’s dad taught me to cut with a hand saw and pound nails in (about three or four) and her mom taught me to draw and fiddle around on piano(about 6 or 7). My dad’s dad it was magic tricks and his mom taught me how to make “American Goulash” (about 7 years old). My dad’s parents lived on the east coast of USA and we only visited them a few times; we lived on the west coast, my mother’s parents move to the west coast after i turned three.

Wonderful. I loved them and they loved me. Both grandmas taught me a lot about cooking, especially for large groups, because that is typically when I would see them, at holiday times, or in the summer when we were all visiting. They let me use cooking implements and trusted me in their kitchens, even from the time I was a little girl. I think this is truly where I got my love of cooking was from them, even though I really didn’t get into cooking (the way I do now) until I was in my mid-twenties, when I became a vegetarian.

My grandparents simply loved me and I only have fond memories of being with them. I lost both of my grandmas when I was in my early twenties, and now that I am in my 50’s, there are lots of conversations, and just time that I wish I had spent with them. I guess I just thought that they would always be there.

My grandpa (my dad’s father passed away before I was a year old, so I never knew him) as it turns out, was not the best person in the world, for a whole host of reasons, that trickled out over the years, but when I was a kid, he was just a guy that I loved, and he loved me.

Thrre out four of my grandparents had passed before I was born. My maternal grandmother lived with us my teens.
Sadly I can’t recall ever having long discussions with her. I can imagine her there cooking and helping when she could.

My maternal Grand mother died before I was born. Maternal Grandfather died 50 years ago from a massive stroke (2–17-1893 – 11–13-1967).

My first memory of him was when he came to stay with Mom, my 2 older sisters and I in Pomona, CA. It was a short visit just before I started kindergarten. No one introduced him to me and so I had no clue who the old man was. So when I wanted his attention I just said, “Hey!” to him. There is no way that I would tolerate my Grandson calling me “Hey”, but he was OK with it.

I was playing by myself in the front yard when the old man came up to me and presented me with a football. Then he retreated back inside the house. I had never seen a football before and had no idea what to do with it. I tried to bounce it on the sidewalk and soon some big boys showed up and took it and ran off with it.

He spent his retirement years living on a meager Social Security check and bounced back and forth between his kids’ houses and his studio apartment in the alley above a parking garage in West Covina, CA. He loved his Copenhagen® chewing tobacco and Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer. Spent all day nearly every day sitting around the house. Never ventured outside without his hold-man hat on.

He was a man of very few words and even more rarely ever smiled. Only a fleeting glimpse of a smile could be seen when someone would crack a joke at which time he’d let loose one of his characteristic soprano cackles. Otherwise he wore a perpetual stone faced frown. I got him to smile one time when I was about 7 years old when I told him, “ You’re my buddy!” and I put my arm around his shoulder.

He never said anything directly to me. But talked with other adults openly. I heard him tell my Mom how he enjoyed talking with the other old men at a nearby park about the old days and about WWI; and how his doctor told him to stop consuming whole milk, butter and cheese. Such high fat foods likely contributed to his several small strokes. He didn’t want to stop eating those foods because that’s what he had always eaten. He loved dairy foods also because he owned and operated a cheese factory in Wisconsin for many years. Mom once told me that the Carnation Company forced him out of business.

Without fail, every time I visited him in his apartment with Mom, my Sisters and I , he would say to no one in particular, “When I was young, if you told me that I would have all of this when I was old, I’d say you’re crazy!” (With absolutely no hint of sarcasm). I would look around to see a cheap B&W TV set, a small plastic radio, a hot plate and a tiny refrigerator in a one room cracker box of an apartment. I wonder what he would say about me and my retirement situation or how I turned out?

Of course when I was young I knew that my retirement would be much better than his. Also I would have said that you’re crazy if someone told me that my retirement would be this good.

I wish that he would have talked to me about his life (including surviving WWI and the great depression) which was likely far more interesting and difficult than I can imagine. I guess that his life was like the football he once gave me. Kicked around a lot, very tough and hard to understand. God bless his soul

My paternal Grand Father and Mother only visited a few times when I was in high school. I spent a few weekends with them. Had lots of idle chitchat. I remember some talk about how I’m like my Dad when I smile or talk in a certain way (My Dad died when I was 4). We played violins that Grandpa made, played board games and some motorcycle riding. I enjoyed those two a lot. No more visits after high school as the Grandpa died from a heat attack and Grandma (She insisted that I call her “Mere”) developed dementia of some sort and died in a extended care facility when she 95 years old.

My mother’s mother was more my mother than my own mother. (I’m very happy with this sentence.)

I am happy with that sentence, too @tinyfaery!
Non existant. My dad’s parents died before I was born.
My mom’s dad died before I was born. I could have had a relationship with Gramma, but we moved clear across the country. I only saw her once or twice, when we visited. She died when I was about 10. My cousins have fond memories of her, though.

I am as involved with my grandkids as I can be. They love me.

My father’s parents died before I could get to know them but I got on very well with my mother’s parents. 50 years later I still miss them. My grandfather taught me how to read and how to play cribbage. I remember discussing the first transatlantic broadcast from Telstar with him.

I remember my relationships with all of them, though with one of them I was pretty young when they passed away, so no conversation memories there, but I remember the love and warmth and kindness.

The others were people I knew fairly well and spent time with, and conversations and stories they told and things we did that I remember very well. There were loving relationships there too, and some great parts, and a few not so great but not too bad parts.

Moms dad died when she was about 10. He mom, my grandma, was an integral part of my life for the first ten years. We lived with her for a while and in the same town thereafter. I remember being over there at least three times a week and remember the bus rides to get there. She was a down to earth working woman born and raised in a working class world in Liverpool who had raised eight kids on her own after her husband died. I remember she always seemed to be surrounded by friends and family.
On my dads side, my grandad and grandma were always loving but somewhat aloof. I don’t recall too much, if any, physical contact such as hugs and kisses and any photos we have together seem kind of formal. We lived about six hours away and probably only saw them a couple of times a year.
When I moved to the US at ten years old I remember the pain of leaving my grandma more than anything or anyone else. I probably saw her no more than four times after that. What I remember most was how when we did get together again she made it feel like we had never been apart. We just seemed to naturally pick up from where we had left off; like we had seen each other just the day before and not the actual intervening years. She died in 1979 and at that time I was not in a situation that would let me attend the funeral but perhaps that is why she still seems to be alive and well in my heart.
I never saw my grandad again before he died and my nana only three times in twenty three years. The last time she was in a nursing home and looked so frail and worn down; not what was and still is in my minds eye for her. She was so happy to see me. She sat there with tears streaming down her cheeks telling me over and over how much I looked like my grandad. It was not long after this that she passed away.
I have tried to be an integral part of my grandchildrens life because of how much I missed my own and I feel that a grandparent gives or adds something to a child that parents can not. Parents have to be concerned with the day to day realities of making a living and rearing and caring for children. Grandparents have do not have to be concerned with reality and can add a little fantasy and whimsy to a childs life.

@rojo, Grandkid says “Gramma! Can I have cup cakes for breakfast?”
“I don’t care!”