Jill's Journal: It's the little things

I left Brandon Valley Intermediate School with a smile on my face.

And to be honest, it was something so simple that put it there.

As I was leaving my interview with BVHS head track and field coach Troy Sturgeon, the halls were filled with fifth and sixth graders scampering to their next class or to lunch. They were busy as bees, as one might say. As I maneuvered my way through the high-traffic hallways, there was one young girl that I smiled at as we crossed paths.

“I like your hair,” she told me.

Of course, I kindly accepted the compliment and kept trudging along to the doors. But with every step I took, my smile grew wider and wider.

That simple little comment simply made me feel good about myself. It made my day brighter, in fact, even put a little skip in my step.

I’ve never claimed to be a hair stylist. I’m “dangerous” enough to do the minimal when it comes to hair. A couple of curls pm the top, a few hair-benders on the sides and then brush and spray. That’s it these days, and I love the simple process that it’s become.

It was quite a few years ago that I was at Robert Bennis Elementary for a story assignment. It was a nice spring day, just like the one’s we’ve been experiencing lately, and it was a Friday, the day that most in the work world look forward to the most. Once again, the sunny weather had put a skip in my step and a smile on my face. I was even blowing bubbles with the gum I was chewing. It was just that kind of a day.

That was, of course until crossed paths with a couple of kids. As I typically do, I greeted them, and they obliged with their hello’s back. It was then the words I was about to hear “cut me like a knife.”

“Do you know who that lady is?” one asked the other. “Is it your grandma?”

In just an instant, my bubble had been popped – literally. The skip went out of my step and my smile turned upside down into a frown.

“Grandma?” I thought to myself, “I’m nobody’s Grandma.”

Nor their mother, for that fact.

As I was driving away from the school that day, I concluded that these girls honestly didn’t know me. They didn’t call me ugly or fat or stupid. Just Grandma. 

And for those of you that are, I know it’s a badge of honor that you all wear proudly. So, with that, I’ll consider myself an “Honorary Grandma,” without having to send them all a birthday card.