And She Wonders Why They Don’t Visit

When I was twelve, my parents and I flew from Canada to London, England to visit my paternal grandparents. My grandmother, “Nana”, wasn’t an easy person to get along with. For one thing, even though I barely knew her due to living in a different country, she seemed offended that I wasn’t chattering with her all day long. (The fact that I was shy didn’t help.)

One morning, I was sitting in my grandparents’ living room, reading a book. I was completely engrossed in it and didn’t realize that Nana had entered the room until I heard a very cold voice.

Nana: “Good morning, [My Name].”

Me: *Startled* “Oh! Good morning, Nana.”

She stalked out of the room with her nose in the air, and I thought, “This isn’t good.”

Sure enough, Dad came up to me a few minutes later.

Dad: “Nana is really hurt and upset that you didn’t say, ‘Good morning,’ to her.”

Me: “I didn’t even know she was there, Dad. I didn’t mean to upset her.”

Dad: “Still, I think you should apologize.”

Me: “Apologize? For what?”

Dad: *Looking harassed* “Look. Just say you’re sorry, okay? Otherwise, she’ll make the entire household miserable.”

So, I did. To this day, I’m still angry about it, and it’s been over forty-five years.