I have various grandchildren in Spain and the United States. However, Hugo (8 years) and Mara (5 years) are the ones that visit most frequently because they live in Granada, a 15-minute walk away. Because of confinement, I had not been able to see them for almost three months except on the computer screen. But now isolation has ended because Granada is in Phase 3, and we are entering the ‘new normal’.
Hugo has been carefully tracking the coronavirus phases, and has a better idea than the Neanderthals of what is permitted in each one. So, the day before yesterday, he called me on the telephone to invite himself over to spend the night. He said that there were a lot of things that we had to do. (He had made a list.)
His only question was whether I wanted him to sleep over that night or the following one. Of course, I told him to come over as soon as possible because we had a date that could no longer be postponed. It had been much too long.
There were stories that he needed to read to me. His favorite books were waiting for him. In addition, there were the sugar cookies that he wanted to make and decorate with colored frosting, stars, and glitter. His favorite cookie-cutter shape is a skull and crossbones, but he also likes hearts and stars. He also wished to see his favorite toys.
In my home, there are few fragile ornaments and decorations. Very little is susceptible to breakage. Children are allowed to make fortresses with sofa cushions, jump on the bed, and blow bubbles from the balcony. Instead of precious glassware, Spode china, or Ming vases, my greatest treasures are games, books, and toys.
Many of these toys date back 40 years, and probably could be sold on e-bay as antiques. However, to my grandchildren, these vintage toys are exotic because they cannot be found anywhere else. They have come to love them, just as their parents once loved them many years ago.
Both Hugo and Mara have seen ‘”Toy Story”, a movie that confirms what I have always told them…. that toys come alive the moment that one leaves the room, and that dolls, robots, and toy dinosaurs need to be played with. Otherwise, they feel lonely and neglected. The coronavirus confinement has been very difficult for the toys in my apartment. The Magic 8-Ball has been working overtime to tell them their future. However, now Hugo would arrive to cheer them up.
Hugo is what a mystical friend of mine would call an ‘old soul’. His conversation and perceptions do not correspond to his age. He is sensitive to the feelings of others, and quite often, he does not understand why adults act so strangely. Together, we have often pondered on their inexplicable behavior. As a former adult (I resigned some time ago), I can only tell him that intelligence is not necessarily a defining characteristic of adulthood. Children often have more common sense.
He is in tune with moods. If I feel sad, he acts like a clown to make me smile. Or if that does not work, he is happy just to sit quietly beside me until I say something. Then he nods his head and says that he understands even though I suspect that he cannot. He is invariably kind and gentle with his grandfather, who suffered a stroke a few years ago.
At the age of four, he could draw better than most adults. He would ask me to give him a challenge, and I would tell him to draw a dinosaur parachuting from a blimp to join a group of kangaroos having a tea party in a castle. Without blinking, he would retire to his room and a half hour later, he would return with a drawing that was an excellent representation of that improbable event, embroidered with a few details of his own imagination.
He spends a great deal of time on arcane Lego constructions that are so complex that most people would need an engineering degree to complete them. After finishing the construction as directed on the box, he then slowly takes it apart and builds something entirely new from his own imagination. He always has various ongoing Lego projects in his room, which no one is allowed to touch. His dream is to visit Lego Land one day, where he doubtlessly will have a job waiting for him.
I asked him what he thought about studying at home for three months and whether he missed school. He said that, of course, he missed playing with his friends, but he preferred learning from home because he could then finish his assignments quickly without having to wait for everyone else to finish.
That same day, my daughter came over to bring Hugo to spend the night. Mara came as well though she preferred to play a little and then return home to sleep in her own bed.
The children entered the apartment cautiously. Hugo had a mask on since he is older than six, the age at which masks are mandatory. Both children stood in the hall as they painstakingly cleaned their hands with sanitizer. Hugo took off his mask as skillfully as a surgeon to avoid contamination.
We all anxiously looked at each other, hesitant about what to do next. These three months had changed us. We had become afraid. We did not know whether we had the right to invade each other’s space. The children had been told that the elderly are vulnerable and could easily be infected. No one was sure quite what to do.
However, there comes a time when one must at long last set fear aside, open the doors of the heart, and step into the light. I do not know who took the first step, but suddenly, we were all in each other’s arms, hugging for the first time since March. It was a solemn moment, a healing balm that closed the open wound caused by three months of emptiness.
That is when I realized that life was returning to normal, and that the Times of Coronavirus would one day come to an end.
