(When I am a kid, a good friend lives across the street with his grandparents. One day, my dad and I see him and his grandmother piling into the car, the grandmother visibly upset. Curious, we go over.)

Dad: “Everything all right?”

Friend’s Grandfather: “Yeah, [Friend] just hurt his hand using the stapler. It is still lodged in there, so [Grandmother] is taking him to the clinic.”

Dad: “Why? They are just going to take it out and then put a new staple in!”

Friend’s Grandfather: “That’s what I said! They are wasting three hours!”

(My friend returned later, with a — sterilized — surgical staple and relieved grandmother. By then, both my dad and his grandfather had thoroughly discussed which tool in their toolboxes they would have used to take care of the problem at home.)

(My grandmother has artificial joints in both of her hips and both of her knees. When I am 19, she has to have one of her hips replaced. It is summertime and my parents, brothers, and I have gone up to my aunt and uncle’s for dinner and my grandmother has joined us, as well. After dinner, all the younger kids — I’m the oldest — go upstairs to play in the game room. I stay downstairs because I’ve been having a conversation with my mom and aunt. My grandma comes into the living room.)

Grandma: “Well, I just took a Vicodin and I’m going home.”

Every Single Other Adult In The Room: “No.”

Grandma: *sputtering* “Well, I can do it. It takes 20 minutes to take effect and only takes me 15 minutes to get home. I timed it.”

Mom: “No, it takes twenty minutes for you to notice the effects. It starts taking effect right away.”

Aunt: “You are not driving home. You can stay in the guest room.”

Grandma: “I’m driving home. I’m fine.”

Me: “I’ll drive you home. It’s fine.” *getting up and heading to get my purse*

Mom: “That’s a good idea.”

Grandma: “No, it’s not. She doesn’t have any clothes.”

Mom: “Are you planning on going dancing? You have shirts she can borrow and you do have a laundry room. [Dad] and I can bring her stuff tomorrow.”

Grandma: “Tomorrow?”

Mom: “You are not driving anywhere until after your operation. You shouldn’t have been driving in the first place!”

Grandma: “I am an adult and your mother. You need to respect me and my decisions!”

Mom: “Then you need to make adult decisions!”

(My grandmother protests and sputters some more. She finally wears us down; this whole thing has only taken a few minutes.)

Aunt: “You know what, fine. Leave right now.” *glances at watch* “We’re going to be nice and give you twenty-five minutes. If you have not called both me and [Mom] within that time, we are going to find you and we will take your license and your car keys away.”

(My mom is still trying to push for me to go, but unfortunately, unless we tie her up, there is no way my grandmother is going to budge. She finally walks out the door and gets in the car and my aunt literally starts a timer. Twenty-five-ish minutes later, my aunt’s phone rings and she puts it on speaker.)

Grandma: “See, I made it home in one piece. No problems!”

Mom: “That was not an adult decision and we are going to be having more conversations about this.”

(My grandmother hangs up the phone. The next day, she calls my mom:)

Grandma: “I’m starting to think you were right. Can [My Name] come to stay with me until the surgery?”

Mom: “She’s packing right now. We’ll be up soon.”

(Luckily, as far as that goes, my grandma learned her lesson. When she needed to replace the other hip and her knees, I lived with her for a few weeks before and after each surgery.)

(My sister and I are at a concert for a band named after a grain. We overhear this conversation outside as an old man drops someone, presumably his grandson, off.)

Man: “Oh, this is a concert!”

Concert Goer: “Well, duh! What did you think this was?”

Man: “When you said you needed a ride to see corn, your grandmother and I thought you were going to some weird farmer show or something.”

(I have no idea what they were expecting it to be like, but I’m certainly curious what a four-hour show about corn would have been like.)

My dog is a rescue, so she has her share of issues. One thing she’s very good about, though, is taking treats. Some dogs will almost bite your hand off because they’re so excited about the treat, but she will very gently take a treat when you give it to her. 

The first time my grandfather met her, though, he tried to undo that good behavior. Whenever he would offer her a treat, he’d hold it out to her, wait until she reached for it, and then yank it back and laugh. I sternly scolded him for doing this, saying that he would teach her that the only way to get the treat was to snap for it. 

Some of my family were on my side about it, but others tried to say that I shouldn’t talk to my grandfather like that. I insisted that she was my dog and I would not let others teach her bad habits no matter who they were. Fortunately, she managed to retain her polite treat-taking ways, no thanks to him!

(My grandma is telling me about how she and her sister are planning on a cruise through the Panama Canal.)

Grandma: “I wanted your grandpa to come with us, but he didn’t want to go.”

Grandpa: *not even looking up from his dinner* “I’ve already been there.”

Grandma: “Honey, I keep telling you, I think this would be different from training for Vietnam!”