The Crypt Keeper

Okay, I admit it, I may occasionally refer to my kids’ grandma as the crypt keeper. I know, I know, I shouldn’t do it. But before you send me hate mail, in all fairness, you have never met my kids’ grandma. She’s not the warm and fuzzy lady you may remember from your childhood. She’s not going to let her precious little grandbabies lick the spoon while they bake chocolate chip cookies one rainy afternoon. She’s not going to sit quietly and knit warm, fuzzy blankets for her precious offspring to cuddle. She won’t let you curl up on her lap if you get a boo-boo. In fact, she will most likely holler at you to suck it up and quit being a baby. Sometimes, I swear that I smell sulfur when she’s entering or exiting the room.

 My kids’ grandma is… well frankly, a bitch. Still, I know I shouldn’t refer to her as the crypt keeper. I know, as I am sure many of you are going to tell me, that it is wrong to disrespect someone who has a significant role in the lives of my children. I should let my kids develop their own opinions of their grandma without (dis)coloring them with my own tainted views. So why do I do it? I do it because I don’t want my children to internalize the dislike their grandma has with mankind in general. She is simply an unpleasant person. Even small animals seem to sense this and scatter when she approaches.

Children tend to internalize dislike. We are actually the ones that reinforce that belief when we coach our children that you must first be a friend to have a friend. When we kiss them goodbye and remind them that they must be good and mind their manners, or they may not be invited back. We are essentially teaching them cause and effect. We are reinforcing the idea that if they behave appropriately, their behavior will be acknowledged and rewarded. Sometimes, however, that is not the case. Sometimes you can be a cute, adorable, well behaved, four-year-old and wind up with the crypt keeper. 

Sometimes people, even the people who are suppose to love you, simply because you share the same genetics, don’t like you. Maybe they don’t like anyone. Perhaps they are just generally disagreeable. It isn’t personal. And, most importantly, it truly isn’t about you. Their grandma may be a miserable human being but that has nothing to do with them. It is actually a flaw in her. That’s the lesson that I am trying to impart to my wee ones with my (slightly twisted) humor. And I think they understand that lesson because where there used to be tears, now we have smiles. When they return from a visit, I ask them questions: Was it hot in hell? Did you have to use sunscreen? Can you roast marshmallows? Do you meet people like Hitler?  

Oh man… I think I smell sulfur…