Intergenerational relationships have shaped me from the beginning. For my first four and a half years, I was the only grandchild, surrounded—and probably spoiled—by relatives across several generations. I also knew these connections did not begin with me; they are part of the circle of life.
Dad’s Elders
My parents told stories about their own family elders. Some relationships were wonderful; others were dull or strained in an era when children were expected to be seen and not heard.
Dad remembered Sunday visits with his father’s parents, when he had to keep his Sunday clothes clean and stay on the front porch all afternoon. These were not warm, fuzzy grandparents.
On the other side of his family, the uncle for whom Dad was named offered encouragement and support. His advocacy helped Dad enter college during his senior year of high school, and he remained important in Dad’s journey toward ministry.
Mom’s Grandmothers
My mother spent much time in Warren, Ohio, where her parents grew up and both sets of grandparents lived. Her grandfathers died before my memories took shape, but I remember her grandmothers clearly. When Great-Grandma Lynn learned her first great-grandchild was named Elizabeth, she objected to “Liz” or “Lizzie” as my nickname: their first Model T Ford had been called the Old Tin Lizzie, and she did not want me named after a car. By the time I knew her, she could no longer manage the country house and lived in town with her oldest daughter and her partner.
Great-Grandma Lynn taught me to do puzzles—the big adult ones. At her card table near the front window, I helped find the edge pieces, which, I learned, you should always do first. She taught me that challenges can be faced together and with some strategy. She also showed me that love is sweet: snickerdoodle cookies were always waiting when I visited.
Great-Grandma Summers lived with her daughter, known to Mom and me as Aunt Lois. During yearly two-week visits to our house, she helped spark my desire to play piano. At night, Mom and her grandmother played duets while I fell asleep. I loved hearing them share the piano and laugh their way through the tunes. She liked to be useful and never minded when Mom handed her the mending basket.
She was also fiercely protective of her granddaughter. Once, family friends came for the day—and stayed several. Irritated by the noise and their disregard for Mom’s time and our home, Great-Grandma took the mending basket to the basement and told Mom to get her when they left. Sometimes you need to stand up to bullies and simply name what is happening.
Aunt Lois loved children and became a surrogate grandmother to the neighbors across the street and their two young children. She taught me Scrabble and how to use my tiles for the best score—but never let me win just because I was a kid. She won all the time and may be the source of my reputation for playing games full-out and, as others say, being competitive. More importantly, she showed me that family can extend beyond relatives and make a difference in a neighborhood.
My Grandmothers
My father’s mother, Grandma Long, was a survivor. The youngest of nine children—and one of only three who lived beyond infancy—she was the only daughter, with two brothers more than twelve years older. She nearly died herself; one brother carried her away and prayed that God would save this one. Her father and brothers were ministers, and I believe she would have followed that path had it been open to women in the early 1900s. She wrote letters and poetry, remembered birthdays, sent wishes near and far, tended plants with a green thumb, and served every church community she joined. Faith sustained her through difficult marriages and profound loss. Her Bible, filled with notes in the margins, remains a treasured legacy, and her poem-prayers continue to shape my spiritual practices.
Then there were her cousins Charlotte and Marie, and her sister-in-law Clara—all widowed. Marie and Clara had no children, and Charlotte’s sons lived elsewhere. Every holiday, Dad drove from Brunswick to Parma, Lakewood, and North Royalton to bring them to our home because none had learned to drive. At day’s end, he reversed the route. They interacted little with me or, later, my sisters, but Dad taught us that family supports one another—even when it means driving across the west side of Cuyahoga County on Easter afternoon after leading worship. You share the holiday meal with people you love; you do not leave others out.
I have many memories of Grandma Summers. She was the business manager of Grandpa’s “Shop,” a heat-treating company started by his uncle. She was also the family peacekeeper—important when several generations worked in the family business and then gathered for holidays.
When I was two and then three, I stayed with my grandparents while Mom and Dad attended a two-week conference each summer. I went with Grandma to the office and played with the equipment, joined her errands, and spent time in the children’s room at the bowling alley during her women’s league. At her weekly beauty-shop appointment, I listened to the women talk. We shopped at Higbee’s in downtown Cleveland and ate in its dining room, where I ordered potpie served in a cardboard oven. Apparently, I often came home with new shoes—which I assured Mom I had not requested. Grandma rescued me when I climbed too high in the backyard tree and taught me wildflower names on woodland walks. We were very close. From her, I learned the delicate balance of being a professional woman, mother, daughter, sister, and friend while tending to her own health.
We are family
I knew I was loved and belonged to this extended web of people. Even my parents’ stories about their grandparents helped me understand our family. All of them helped shape who I am today.
Except for Aunt Lois, that generation had died by the time I reached my mid-twenties. The first funeral I remember was Great-Grandma Lynn’s. I was not yet seven, and it took place in a funeral home’s parlor. Sitting with my parents, surrounded by Mom’s extended family, I was startled when her family was listed during the service and included me. I no longer remember whether my sister and I were named or simply listed as great-grandchildren. What I understood was that I belonged to these people, that my relationship mattered to her and the rest of the “clan.” It was a public claim of belonging that deepened the connection I had shared with her.
These generations are foundational to my life today. I now see the importance of becoming a connector between these beautiful, faithful people now gone and those who will follow. This is the circle of life—the power of intergenerational relationships as we journey into the future, sharing love, teaching life lessons, and living what matters most.