La Cucaracha

I never planned to create a new game with my grandsons, Nick (8) and Justin (5). It just sort of happened. One day I had a folded paper bag and I smacked Nick on the butt with it. He laughed. Then, Justin wanted me to smack him on the butt with it, too. (Let me assure you that it doesn’t hurt at all to be smacked with a brown paper bag.) They loved it.

I started chasing them with the bag and smacking them whenever I got close enough. And for some reason, I thought of swatting cockroaches. “I don’t like cockroaches!” I shouted as I smacked them with the bag. And the game evolved from there.

It mainly consists of me hiding and then chasing after them when they find me, all the while trying to smack them with the folded-up bag and calling them cockroaches. This mostly happens in my apartment, which is in the lower level of the house. I hide in different places each time, around corners, behind furniture, etc. Sometimes I turn the lights off, and they have to find me with a flashlight. Every time I go after them, their eyes radiate excitement as they scramble to get away from me while they scream and laugh. I intermittently add a little singing of “La Cucaracha” to get them going, and I’ve made it a bit creepier by drawing a smiley face on the bag. Often, the bag appears before I do, and they shriek.  They always know the game is winding down when I start to come after them with the bag over my head humming “La Cucaracha.”

I can’t believe how much they love this game. I thought it was a one-time, spontaneous activity, but they would play it 24-7. Every day Justin asks, “Can we play La Cucaracha?” So now it’s become a thing. Ay Caramba!

There’s something unnatural about growing up without grandparents. My grandparents were not a part of my life. Grandparents weren’t a part of my kids’ lives either because they died before the time my daughter and son were old enough to remember much about them.  

When I became a grandparent, I was ecstatic, but really bothered by the geography.  Like so many other distant grandparents, I did as well as I could through video calls on the phone and frequent trips via car, train, plane… But I always ached for more. My secret wish every year, when I blew out my birthday candles, was for something that neither I nor my children ever had. I wanted my grandsons to get to know me well enough that they would remember me when they got older.

I was counting the years, months and days until I could retire and move closer to Nick and Justin. Conversations with my daughter and son-in-law brought us to the place where they were planning to purchase their first home, which would include space for me—someplace with my own kitchen, bath and entrance so that I would have my own life, but be able to spend time with them, too. During the pandemic I became even more desperate to be near them and felt like it was nothing more than an elusive dream.

In August, it actually happened. I moved to NYC, and I’m living the dream. I see Justin and Nick every day. I’m able to help out with getting them to school, staying home with them when they’re sick, serving with the PTA at their school. I pinch myself every morning and am beyond grateful for the opportunity to be a part of their lives.

I don’t know how much time I will be able to spend with them. I would love to  be around long enough to watch them finish school and enter adulthood. Or perhaps I won’t. However it goes, I’m satisfied because they will know me. And they will have memories of me that will become a part of who they are. Like playing La Cucaracha and screaming their little heads off while I call them cockroaches and smack them with a smiley-faced paper bag. It doesn’t get any better than that.