Every summer, I can still smell my grandmother’s kitchen—yeast rising in fresh bread dough, tomatoes simmering into sauce, and that hint of lavender she kept dried in mason jars along the windowsill.
When Ellie helps me knead pizza dough on Friday nights, flour dusting her cheeks, I’m transported back to those childhood visits where time moved slower and love was measured in homemade meals and unhurried conversations.
Looking back now, especially as I navigate raising my own little ones in this fast-paced digital world, I realize just how extraordinary those seemingly ordinary grandparents were. They gave us gifts that no store could sell—lessons woven into everyday moments that shaped who we became.
If your grandparents did these eight things, you were among the lucky ones. And if they’re still around? Call them. Today.
1. They told you stories instead of handing you screens
Remember curling up next to them while they spun tales about “the old days”? My grandfather would describe walking five miles to school (uphill both ways, naturally), while my grandmother shared stories of making dolls from corn husks during the Depression.
These weren’t just stories—they were connection points. Through their words, we learned family history, developed our imaginations, and most importantly, practiced the lost art of listening. No notifications interrupted, no videos auto-played next.
When I catch myself reaching for my phone to entertain Milo during a grocery store meltdown, I remember those stories. Sometimes I’ll whisper a made-up tale about the brave little boy who helped his mama find the magic bananas instead. It doesn’t always work, but when it does? Pure gold.
2. They let you get dirty and didn’t panic about germs
My grandmother’s response to muddy hands? “Soap exists for a reason.” She’d send us outside after breakfast and expect us back when the streetlights came on, covered in evidence of our adventures.
There was no hand sanitizer station by the door, no antibacterial everything. We ate berries straight from bushes (after checking for bugs, of course) and built mud pies that would make today’s helicopter parents faint. And you know what? We survived. Thrived, even.
This mirrors what I learned from my own mother, who despite her anxieties, let us dig in our garden with abandon. That connection to soil, to real things, built our immune systems and our confidence simultaneously.
3. They fixed things instead of replacing them
When something broke in my grandparents’ house, out came the toolbox, the sewing kit, or the glue. I spent countless afternoons watching my grandfather’s weathered hands work magic on everything from wobbly chair legs to torn book pages.
“Waste not, want not” wasn’t just a saying—it was a way of life. They’d lived through times when you couldn’t just order a replacement on Amazon. This taught us patience, problem-solving, and the satisfaction of restoration.
Matt channels this same spirit when he involves Ellie in fixing her broken toys rather than immediately buying new ones. The pride on her face when something works again? Priceless.
4. They cooked real food from scratch
Fast food was for road trips only, if that. My grandmother’s kitchen was always working—something bubbling, baking, or cooling on the counter. She knew which neighbor grew the best tomatoes and when the peaches would be perfect at the farmer’s stand.
Watching her cook taught me more than recipes. I learned patience (good bread takes time), attention (burnt bottoms happen when you’re distracted), and love (the secret ingredient she never wrote down). Growing up without much money meant my mother followed this same path, making everything from scratch out of necessity, but it became a gift to us kids.
Those lessons guide me now as I involve my children in our weekend cooking adventures, even when it means twice the mess and three times the time.
5. They had time for you—real time
When you visited, you became their priority. Not in a hovering, entertainment-director way, but in a quiet, present way. They’d sit on the porch while you played, occasionally calling out observations about the cardinal at the feeder or reminding you to stay where they could see you.
They weren’t scrolling through their phones (obviously), checking email, or mentally running through to-do lists. They were just there, creating a container of safety through their presence.
This is perhaps what I struggle with most in our modern world. But when I manage it—when I truly just sit and watch my kids play without multitasking—I see what my grandparents knew: presence is the greatest present.
6. They taught you practical life skills
By age ten, I could sew on a button, grow tomatoes from seed, and make a decent pot of soup. These weren’t formal lessons but natural teaching moments. “Come here, let me show you something,” my grandmother would say, and suddenly I was learning to darn socks or balance a checkbook.
My grandfather taught through doing—holding the flashlight while he worked on the car, passing him tools, absorbing knowledge through proximity. He never said these skills would matter, but they created a foundation of capability that serves me still.
7. They showed you that faith or tradition mattered
Whether it was saying grace before meals, observing holidays with specific rituals, or simply maintaining Sunday dinner traditions, they provided rhythm and meaning to life. These practices weren’t forced but woven into the fabric of daily existence.
My grandmother’s quiet morning prayers, my grandfather’s weekly volunteer work—they modeled that life was bigger than just our individual wants. This gave us roots, even when we later chose different branches.
8. They loved you without conditions
You could fail a test, break a window, or disappoint your parents, and your grandparents’ love remained steady. They’d lived long enough to know that mistakes don’t define people and that children need soft places to land.
This didn’t mean no consequences or unlimited ice cream (though there was more ice cream than parents would approve). It meant their love wasn’t tied to your performance or achievement. You were enough, just by being you.
The blessing lives on
As I watch my children play in our garden, dirt under their fingernails and sun on their faces, I realize I’m trying to give them glimpses of what my grandparents gave me. Not perfectly—I’m definitely guilty of too much screen time some days and drive-through dinners when life gets crazy.
But the foundation they laid? It’s still there, informing my choices, whispering wisdom when I need it most. Their patient presence, their practical wisdom, their unconditional love—these gifts keep giving, generation after generation.
If your grandparents gave you even a few of these gifts, you were blessed indeed. And if you’re lucky enough to still have them, or to be a grandparent yourself, remember: it’s the simple things that matter most. The stories, the time, the teachings wrapped in ordinary moments.
These are the treasures that last, long after we’ve forgotten the toys under the Christmas tree or the store-bought gifts for birthdays. They live on in how we parent, how we love, and how we move through the world.
