Some of my sweetest memories are from my childhood relationship with my grandparents.

Decades later, I can conjure their voices and the luxurious feel of spending time in their presence.

Grandparents have the amazing opportunity to be ambassadors of true unconditional love.

And lucky for me, and my sisters, our grandparents were exactly that. They didn’t concern themselves with monitoring schoolwork, chores, or the specifics of our behavior, unless we broke important rules.

They wisely left that to our parents.

Instead, they spent their time with us dispensing love. In their eyes, we could do no wrong, and their unconditional regard washed over us in an ever-flowing waterfall. To be on the receiving end of that fountain of love was pure bliss.

Today, child development experts and neuroscientists will confirm the healing, almost magical benefits of being loved so unconditionally. There were rules, boundaries and expectations to be sure. It wasn’t like some Kids Gone Wild movie.

What professionals have learned is that children thrive in an atmosphere of high warmth and clearly defined expectations about behavior. Sounds like my grandparents, and I’m guessing yours too.

At least I hope so.

 Now the baton has been passed.

My grandparents are no longer living. And my parents, who beautifully carried out the tradition of unconditional love for their grandchildren have joined them. In our little family, that leaves Rick and me to be the waterfall of unconditional love.

It’s a task we’re thrilled to undertake.

At the ripe old age of not quite two, our grandson knows the horses and has absolutely no fear around them. When he gets in our car he asks, “Horses?” He’s figured this little routine out. Has it down cold.

Bud and Pepper take him in stride. This visit, Pepper even agreed to allow him to sit on her back. For Miss P. that was big!

Do you have special grandparent memories? 

Our grandmother used to mix the last of the grape juice in the pitcher with a new can of orange juice, I presume so that she wouldn’t have to wash the container. We loved that! Thought it was a special kind of juice. My sister and I still talk about it sometimes. Just writing about it shoots me back to my grandmother’s dining nook in Kansas. I can picture the little juice glasses and nearly taste the juice. That’s how strong memory is.

If you’re so inclined, tell me one of your grandparent memories in the comment section below.

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