Madeleine Chapman reflects on the week that was.
There is no adult in the world who can cut you to the core as cleanly as a small child. My unwitting assassin is my lovely not-quite-two-year-old nephew, who with a single, repeated word has forced me to reevaluate my hair, my clothes and my life.
The word? Nana.
My sister (and therefore nephew) lives 10 minutes from me and I see them approximately once a week. My mum (his nana) lives a seven-hour drive away and therefore they see each other every few months. And yet, whenever my nephew sees me, or wishes to refer to me after I’ve said goodbye, he calls me nana.
“No, that’s aunty Mad,” my sister will gently say. “Can you say Mad?” He’ll look at her, look at me, and say nothing. Until the next time he calls to me and I’m nana again.
Trust me when I say that I do find it funny, and have taken to referring to myself as nana sometimes just to be consistent. But when one is referred to as nana despite not being 70 years old (his real nana’s age), one must examine what sort of energy and look one is presenting to the impressionable youths of the world.
If I’m being very honest, I’ve been old my whole life, so it’s not really a surprise that since I have similar length hair to my mum, my nephew has made us one person. But it is always jarring to be reminded of both age and stage.
I have been Aunty Mad since I was 12, so have always felt like a very young aunty. Nearly two decades and 15 nieces and nephews later, I have only just recently realised I’m a regular-aged aunty. And now, having lived with that realisation for a whole three months, I’m suddenly a very young nana.
This week, I read a lot of comments online about how any reasonably healthy person would be able to pass the police fitness test. I looked at the requirements and knew instantly that I’d fail every part of it. Five years ago I would’ve needed a few weeks to freshen up but could’ve passed. Today? Give me at least six months and you’ve got a maybe.
In watching Gilmore Girls recently I had to remind myself that mother-of-teenager Lorelai is only a year older than me in the show.
At the same time, I read about the chaos of the classroom these days and the ever-changing curriculum and the rise of AI where children are supposedly learning and think, “thank god I’m too old to be impacted by this”.
You might think this is all a bit rich and predictable coming from someone in their early thirties but you aren’t the one being called nana and wondering if maybe you need to just shave your head again to make things really clear.
On balance, I take it as a compliment that I am convincingly passing as a 70-year-old quiet woman to my nephew and assume it really is just the hair. And yes, I do now know that when I look at my mum, I am in fact looking at myself in 40 years.
But I may still shave my head and if he continues to call me nana… well, that’s an existential problem for future, geriatric me.
The stories Spinoff readers spent the most time with this week
- English teacher David Taylor on why he told his principal he won’t teach the new proposed curriculum
- Perfectly average male Hayden Donnell attempts the police college fitness tests
- Liam Rātana reviews John Campbell’s fearless exposé of Brian Tamaki and Destiny Church
- Liam strikes again, uncovering the mystery of Goldie AI reproductions in a Christchurch restaurant
- Air NZ is facing a wave of anger over soaring fares, reports Catherine McGregor for The Bulletin
