My 13-year-old granddaughter’s suitcase contained a stunning surprise that caused me to doubt everything I thought I knew about her. As I wrestled with what I discovered and my antiquated assumptions, I wondered if I could bridge the generational divide before it ripped us apart.
I was thrilled to have Lily, my 13-year-old granddaughter, stay with us for the summer. She had always been a lovely child, and I couldn’t wait to spend some real time with her.
When she came, she was bouncing off the walls with enthusiasm, racing about the house like she did when she was younger.
“Lily, honey, why don’t you go explore while I unpack for you?” I suggested, grabbing her suitcase.
“Thanks, Grandma!” she called over her shoulder, already halfway down the hall.
I hauled the suitcase into the guest room, smiling to myself. It would be great to have a young person around the house again. I unzipped the suitcase, expecting to see the typical items: clothes, books, and even that old teddy bear she adored.
What I saw instead caused me to gasp. Right on top were these tiny little crop tops that resembled handkerchiefs rather than shirts. And the shorts? They were so short that they could pass for ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴘᴀɴᴛs.
I explored deeper and discovered makeup, perfume, and even a pair of ultra-high platform shoes. This couldn’t be correct. Not my Lily. I sat on the bed, trying to understand what I had seen.
After a few minutes, I realized I needed to phone Emily, my daughter. I dialed with shaking fingers.
“Hey, Mom! How’s Lily settling in?” Emily answered cheerfully.
“Emily, we need to talk,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I found some things in Lily’s suitcase. Crop tops, short shorts, makeup —”
There was a pause on the other end. Then Emily sighed. “Oh, Mom. I know it seems sh0cking, but it’s not a big deal. All her friends dress like that.”
I felt my jaw drop. “Not a big deal? Emily, she’s thirteen!”
“Times have changed, Mom,” Emily said, her voice taking on that patient tone she used when she thought I was being old-fashioned. “Lily’s just expressing herself. The makeup is just for fun.”
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “But don’t you think she’s growing up too fast?”
“Mom, relax,” Emily said. “Lily’s a good kid. She knows her boundaries. Just let her have some fun, okay?”
After we hung up, I sat there for a long, trying to process everything. Was I truly so out of touch?
I kept a close eye on Lily for the next few days. She’d put on the crop tops and shorts and experiment with her cosmetics. But she remained my Lily, laughing at her grandfather’s awful jokes and helping me in the garden.
One evening, I discovered my husband, George, frowning as he observed Lily texting on her phone while dressed in one of those outfits.
“Nora,” he whispered, “don’t you think we should say something?”
I sighed. “I already talked to Emily. She says it’s normal nowadays.”
George shook his head. “Doesn’t seem right to me.”
That night, I decided I needed to speak with Lily. I knocked on her door and found her on the bed, her nose buried in a book.
“Lily, honey? Can we talk?”
She looked up, smiling. “Sure, Grandma. What’s up?”
I perched on the side of the bed, searching for the proper words. “I wanted to talk about your… new style.”
Lily’s face fell a little. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s not that,” I said quickly. “I’m just surprised. It seems very grown-up for someone your age.”
Lily sat up, hugging her knees. “I know it’s different from what I used to wear. But all my friends dress like this now. I just wanted to fit in, you know?”
I nodded, recalling how significant that had been when I was her age. “I understand that, sweetie. But you know you don’t have to change yourself to fit in, right?”
Lily nodded. “I know. But it’s fun to try new things sometimes.”
“I get that,” I said, smiling. “When I was your age, I begged my mom to let me wear go-go boots. She thought they were scandalous.”
Lily giggled. “Really? You?”
“Oh yes,” I laughed. “I thought I was very cool.”
We chatted for a little more, telling stories and laughing. As I was preparing to depart, Lily asked, “Grandma?”
I turned back. “Yes, honey?”
“I’m still me, you know,” she said softly. “Even if I look different sometimes.”
I felt a lump in my throat. “I know, sweetie. I know.”
As I closed the door, I reflected on how much had changed since my youth. Lily grew up in a very different world than I did. To be honest, it worries me at times.
But Lily was still Lily. She was maturing, undoubtedly, but she remained the sweet, intelligent girl I had always known. Maybe I needed to trust her a little more, trust that we had raised her correctly.
The following morning, I discovered Lily in the kitchen, assisting George with breakfast. She was wearing one of her new dresses, but she had layered one of my old cardigans over it.
“Morning, Grandma!” she chirped. “Want some pancakes?”
I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. “I’d love some, honey.”
As I watched her and George debate how to properly flip a pancake, I knew something. The clothes and makeup were merely on the outside. The Lily I adored was still present, beneath it all.
Sure, I was still worried. Which grandparent doesn’t? But I also felt a sense of pride. Lily was growing up and forging her own path. Maybe that was okay.
“Hey, Grandma?” Lily’s words interrupted my thoughts. “Can you show me how to make your famous apple pie today?”
I grinned. “Of course, sweetie. Right after breakfast.”
As we sat down to eat, I caught George’s glance across the table. He winked at me, and I could tell he was thinking the same thing. Our little girl was growing up, but everything was going to be OK.
The rest of the morning went by in a blur of flour, apples, and laughter. Lily was a natural in the kitchen, with nimble fingers that soon mastered the technique of peeling apples.
“So, Grandma,” Lily said as she carefully placed the top crust on the pie, “tell me more about those go-go boots.”
I chuckled, dusting flour off my hands. “Oh, they were something else. White vinyl, went up to my knees. Your great-grandmother nearly had a fit when she saw them.”
Lily’s eyes widened. “Did you wear them to school?”
“I sure did,” I said, grinning at the memory. “Thought I was the bee’s knees.”
“The what now?” Lily giggled.
“Oh, you know,” I waved my hand, “it means I thought I was pretty cool.”
While we waited for the pie to bake and fill the house with the lovely smell of cinnamon and apples, Lily and I sat at the kitchen table and swapped stories.
She told me about her classmates, her favorite school topics, and the boy she had a crush on (though she asked me not to tell her mother).
“You know,” I said, as I pulled the golden-brown pie out of the oven, “I might have some old photos of me in those go-go boots somewhere. Want to see?”
Lily’s face lit up. “Yes, please!”
We spent the afternoon looking through old photo albums and laughing at past fashion trends. Lily was particularly amused by George’s 1970s handlebar mustache.
“Oh my god, Grandpa,” she giggled, “what were you thinking?”
George, who had joined us, ruffled her hair affectionately. “Hey now, that was very stylish back then.”
As the sun began to set, spreading sweeping shadows across the living room, I found myself observing Lily. She was snuggled up on the couch, still wearing her crop top and shorts, but with my old cardigan slung around her shoulders. She was looking through a photo album and periodically asked about the people and locations she saw.
In that moment, I discovered something significant. Yes, Lily was growing up. Yes, the world she grew up in was unlike the one I knew. But at her core, she remained the same inquisitive, kind-hearted child she had always been.
The clothing, the makeup—they were all part of her journey, her method of discovering who she was and who she wanted to be. Isn’t that what growing up is all about?
As we sat down to supper that night, with the scent of apple pie still hanging in the air, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. Lily met my gaze across the table and grinned, a speck of flour remaining on her face from our baking expedition.
“Thanks for today, Grandma,” she said softly. “It was really fun.”
I reached out and squeezed her hand. “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.”
Later that night, as George and I prepared for bed, he turned to me with a knowing look. “Feeling better about things?” he inquired.
I nodded, smiling. “You know, I think I am. Lily’s growing up, but she’s still our Lily.”
George pulled me into a hug. “That she is. We’ve got a good kid there.”
As I fell asleep that night, I felt grateful. I’m grateful for the time I had with Lily, and for the opportunity to observe her grow and change. Most importantly, I’m grateful for the lesson that, behind it all, people don’t change much.
We’re all just trying to find our way, right? And sometimes all we need is a little understanding, patience, and maybe a slice of apple pie to get us through.
