My grandmother, even being from the old country, Ireland, quickly took on some new ideas from her adopted country. Although she kept many of the customs of her past, like wearing long dresses to her ankles and these were mostly dark colors in paisley prints. Her shoes were always black with low heels, like nurses used to wear.
The one thing she insisted on was that we, her grandchildren call her “Mom” and not “Grandmother”. She did not want to be considered old, so as a result, we had to call my mother, “Mother”, not realizing how different that was, especially in the United States, where most people call their mom, “mom”.
We, of course, thought nothing of it at the time but as we got older, it seemed a bit odd. Not that we ever objected to it or even said anything about it. Until we were adults and friends would sometimes remark about it being a little strange.
Mom’s husband, my grandfather, was called “Pop” by both his children and his grandchildren. That always seemed odd to me, even as a child. But I do not remember ever questioning anyone about it but I do not think he cared one way or the other what we called him. Mom usually set down the rules about these things in her house and among her family. You disagreed with her at your own peril. My mother took it all with a grain of salt and I followed in her footsteps.
To Be Continued.