Sit down, dear—we need to have a talk.
My grandchildren are insufferably boring, and Nana can’t take it anymore.
It’s not for lack of trying on your part, Lord knows. They’re in baseball, watercolors, boy scouts, wreck diving, creative weavery, and yet they’re still so pale and whiny and afraid of being awesome like Grandma.
For Christmas this year, Nana wants her sweet muffin-faced angels to be the most inglorious badasses that ever walked the Earth.
Reintegration Camp Adventure
Replaces: All learning activities.
Class: They sit in rickety wooden chairs in the haunted part of my basement while I shout facts through a bullhorn 2 feet from him. Each time they forget a fact, another stuffed animal disappears.
Replaces: All sports and scouts training.
Class: I shoot bottle rockets indiscriminately as snuggums sprints back-and-forth across the yard, earning a double-tap for every direct hit. For agility, I’ll chase them through the woods on an off-road Hoveround while firing Roman candles each time they try to out-smart Nana. Learning to duck and cover is easy when Nana’s ramping logs and double-fisting sparks of fury. Every once in a while, I’ll fire a Go-Gurt out of a t-shirt cannon for energy.
Replaces: All finance, business, and law activities.
Class: We consolidate the neighborhood tough kids and start demanding protection pay for every lemonade stand, cookie sale, and pretend restaurant within a 10-block radius. Hire the smart kid for legal representation in capitalistic misunderstandings.
Now and Then
Replaces: Almost every little-girl activity on the market.
Class: We dress your daughter up in all the finery of pageants, snap a photo, age progress it about 50 years, and have a sit down about the harsh truths of life and how GlamourShots are not forever. We spend the rest of the class reading books, breaking bricks with our faces, and learning to tell someone off with all the finesse of Elizabeth Taylor before the rickets hit.
See how easy it is? It’s not that difficult to train a kid to be a the baddest ass of them all; you just need a little of Nana’s old magic, a snippet of ingenuity, and 6 boxes of wine. Pass Grandma the rum and the t-shirt cannon—she has badassery to summon.
Noa Gavin is a deliriously irreverent 20-something comedian who fears children, butterflies, and the death of Michael Bolton. Because she’s not managed to offend everyone yet, she was chosen as one of the 2011 BlogHer Voices of the Year. When she’s not creeping out everyone who lives in her building, she’s writing at Oh, Noa, scouting for The League of Funny Bitches, and working with her sketch team, HorribleSketch.