I’m always thinking about stuff: the good old days, the movie I watched last night, the devotional I read, some of the stupid things I did as a kid.
Today, skipping like a carefree child down memory lane, I thought about Brandon, my first grandchild. Just learning to talk, he picked out names to call all the grandparents, except for me. Maybe, because I was the youngest, in his mind I didn’t fit the typical granny image. Maybe He was confused about the role I played in his world. I don’t know. Whatever his reasons, he didn’t have an endearing, grandmotherly name for me.
Then, one Sunday afternoon my daughter-in-law told me that Brandon was referring to me as Dee Dee.
“Well okay then. Dee Dee, it is.”
Brandon loved for me to tell him stories. In the car, at the mall, in the grocery store, on the porch swing . . . everywhere! All I’d hear is, “Tell me a story, Dee Dee! Tell me a story!”
Now, there’s just so many stories a granny can make up about the two of us riding on Mrs. Eagle’s back over the highest mountains or talking to Mr. Tree in the enchanted forest or creeping into a really dark, really spooky house deep in the woods. But if I didn’t come up with something he’d drive me crazy until I did. That’s the way it works for those of you who haven’t figured it out yet.
His most favorite story was when the two of us teamed up with Voltron and battled all the bad guys. We’d wield our shiny swords, conjure up our magic powers and fight till the bitter end. Then, we’d crawl into a cave where we’d regroup and strategize our next sneak attack.
Suddenly, in Brandon’s eyes, Voltron was no longer a plastic action figure. Voltron was his hero, the one who came to his rescue, who bandaged his wounds and killed all the bad guys. Never again would I be just plain old Dee Dee. I was Immortal. I was invincible. I was Dee Dee Voltron!
And after all those battles I had to fight, and all those stories I had to conjure up, I earned that title and wore it well . . . at least in Brandon’s eyes.
Brandon’s now grown with three kids of his own. And, although he no longer begs me to tell him stories, he remembers them all so well and occasionally refers to me as “Dee Dee Voltron.”