Warning! This Post Contains Foul and Funny Language!

We're about to become grandparents. And when I say about to, I mean truly, any minute now, our first grandchild, a grandson, is rolling out. This brings two questions up fairly frequently and they both have to do with names.

First, people want to know what his name is going to be. Yes I do know it, but I am sworn to secrecy. The second question is easier to answer, but involves a funny story. (My favorite kind.)

"What will he call you?" my friends want to know.

It seems that people of my "Boomer" generation make a big deal about the grandparent name they plan to use. Should it be "Grandma" (too old)  or "Bubbie" (too ethnically Jewish)? "Nona" (too ethnically Italian) or "Grandmother" (again-- too old-sounding)? "Nana" (only works if you knit) or "G-Mom"? (only works if you work for the FBI). My childhood friend had two grandmothers. One she called "Nana" and the other she called "Grandmother Greenland." (the grandmother's last name.) I always wondered if Grandmother Greenland could tell from that name that she was not the favorite grandma. Seemed obvious to me.

Other than that, I've never thought about what one calls their grandmother. I didn't have one, I've never been one; this has never been meaningful in my life. Well, until last year when a friend who was an impending grandma asked me to develop a list of names she might like for her grandchild to call her.

I had no idea this was a thing. I figured the baby is born and magically, when he starts to talk, he figures out how he feels about you and calls you that. (In which case, he's likely to call me Cookie because I plan to take up baking oatmeal raisin cookies and giving him those.)

But, since I had to answer the question, I decided to spend some time carefully choosing my grandparent moniker.

Which brings me to the story...

A few years back we met a family (friends of our friends) of three generations. The grandparents, the parents (who were my age) and their kids. The grandchildren all called their grandparents Bubbie and Dick. This wouldn't have been funny except that:

a. Bubbie, the Jewish name for grandmother, is what they called the grandfather. And, these folks aren't Jewish.
b. Dick is what they called the grandmother.

Dick?!!!

So, after a while, we had to know the origin. We asked our friends to ask their friends how this "unusual" name came about. Here's the explanation they returned brought back.

When the first grandchild was born, she tried to say "Grandmother" but it came out "Dick." And it stuck!

But, my husband said, couldn't have they just said, "No, it's not Dick. It's "Grandmother,"... or Nana...or Bubbie, or Nona, or pretty much anything better than "Dick.'"

To what would they have said "No"? What if the little girl tried to say "Grandmother" but it came out "C___sucker"? Or "Motherf___er"?  Would they have let that stick?

So, my husband suggested that when we became grandparents, we were drawing a line somewhere. If it came out "Schmuck" or "Douchebag," okay, but anything worse and we would just say NO!

When I shared this story with my friend Patti, grand arbiter of all things funny, she cracked up. When she found out we were expecting a grandchild, she sent me the pack of gum pictured here.

 So, clearly, we're not so original. Someone else thinks "Douchebag" is an acceptable name.

Which brings me to my grandmother name of choice. I'm going with "Grammy."

I hope.

To Whom It May Concern: I love you

Between now and when I turn 60, one of the new leaves I'm turning over is the saying of "I love you" to the people I actually feel that way about. I am not now and have never been an easy "I love you" communicator. Perhaps it goes back to that day long ago when my high school boyfriend Craig (who no longer remembers me or so he claims) sat next to me on the steps going from his parents' kitchen to the basement (how lovely and romantic) and leaned in after a kiss and said quietly, "I love you." 

And, I leaned in equally quietly and said, "Thanks." 

Well, I didn't love him and I didn't want to lie to him because I really, really, liked and respected him. Also, I was polite and "thanks" was the first genuine, non-insulting thing that came to my mind. The first thing that came to mind was "Oh, crap." But, that didn't seem appropriate.

Fast forward a mere many years and here I am, still not someone who says "I love you" easily to anyone who isn't my husband or my child. Maybe it's not the legacy of Craig that holds me back. Maybe it's the legacy of my parents who most certainly loved me but I'm not sure they ever said so. When my dad was dying of lung cancer, I launched into a long dissertation of love just after the doctor told us his prognosis. I told him in the most misty and loving terms what a wonderful father, grandfather, and man he was in his quiet and understated way. I assured him that the legacy he'd leave behind was nothing short of stunning. I went on for 10 minutes waxing poetic with the words I had never before spoken. I leaned in and gave him a rare kiss. 

He leaned in and said quietly, "Do you have a key to my safe deposit box?" 

So, if I'm a dysfunctional "I love you" person, you can see that I come by it naturally. But that moment of waiting to hear "I love you" from Dad taught me a valuable lesson... or two. First, you don't have to hear "I love you" in order to know you are loved. I know my Dad was crazy about me and my kids and husband. Two, it's nice to hear anyway and it's a gift you can give the people you love. It feels good every time.

But, a few years ago, Ned and I made some new friends in our new-ish hometown in North Carolina. When we left them at the end of a social event, we'd say goodnight or goodbye and they'd say, "Love you." It caught us off guard at first. Maybe we said, "Thanks" even, but I'm not sure. But after a while I realized these folks weren't just saying "Goodbye" with that expression. They actually were telling their friends how they felt about them. It was genuine and quite moving.

So, I stepped a toe into that strange water and started saying "I love you" to my friends when I left. I started with one of my oldest and dearest and then moved into my newer and dearest. It felt awkward at first but now it's growing on me. The first person I said it to was my friend C. (she may prefer being anonymous here) who was going through a really tough time. When we parted on our regular Tuesday get-together, I said, "Love you" and she said the same. It felt comforting. It seemed the exact right last thing to say so that would be the thought and feeling we'd take with us at the end of the evening.

I don't know why it took me almost 60 years to embrace this phrase but between now and December I'm going to use it often. 

Do you say "I love you" easily? Do you say it to friends or just to family? Do you say it in passing or only to those who resonate in your life? Do you think it loses meaning if you say it too much? Or is it like love itself and there's always room for more?