I love being a grandparent, but who doesn't? Well, I suppose if my daughter was fifteen, dreamed of working at Hooters and was working on her sleeve of tattoos while I watched the kids, I wouldn't love being a grandparent. Fortunately for me and the grandchildren, the above does not describe the situation.
I like to think being a grandparent somehow makes me a better person, but I realized today as I was thinking about Elizabeth's upcoming birthday that in truth, being a grandmother was in fact destroying my egalitarian beliefs and principles.
I'm an American, a descendant of revolutionaries (on my mother's side) who fought off the shackles of the British and the inbred royals who ruled that island nation. As a child I recited the Pledge of Allegiance day after day; in effect swearing to uphold liberty and justice for all. I really and truly believe in equality, or at least I used to, but now I seem to be a member of Team Princess.
Tomorrow our delightful, brilliant and utterly charming Elizabeth will turn five and she is a princess. She loves all things pink, sparkly and puffy. She knows the names of all the cartoon princesses and can discuss their various relationships, hardships and fashion choices.
I suppose I could blame the media with a stern look at Disney. I could blame the retailers who sell this garbage, but I must take responsibility for what I have done. Sitting in our dining room, awaiting the time when we see Elizabeth, is a cardboard box with not one, not two, not three, but four princess costumes. At first glance it appears that a fairy, drunk on glitter and iridescent fabric, has thrown up in the aforementioned box, but it is nothing that dramatic. Just another grandmother who has sacrificed her political and feminist principles to make a beloved child happy.
After staring into that box for a second or two, I felt so guilty that I sent her an e-card with a unicorn flying over rainbows. Sigh.