National Grandparents’ Day
Honoring the memory of Marian McQuade, with poems and a letter by Richard Levine, Alice Duggan, and Sue Marcus.
TRANSCRIPT
Marian McQuade was born in W.VA in 1917; she died in 2008. Her granddaughter Ruth said, “She was very interested in getting children to talk to their grandparents before it was too late.” Marian was concerned that the elderly were being ignored and undervalued. One way to remedy the problem was to encourage a bond between grandparents and grandchildren.
Marian McQuade lobbied for a day that celebrated our elders, especially grandparents, and in 1979, Grandparents Day became a national holiday, celebrated the Sunday after Labor Day.
McQuade’s granddaughter said, “Even though it’s not a major holiday, I’ve seen so many schools where the grandparents celebrate with the children.”
In memory of Marian McQuade and in honor of Grandparents Day, some pieces about grandparents.
Richard Levine said, “My maternal grandmother taught me Cat’s Cradle, sitting with me beside her old Singer sewing machine, though, remarkably, she did not speak English and I did not speak her Russian-Yiddish. I wanted the poem to imply a metaphoric parallel between the game, which involves a shape shifting with every turn, and the changes my immigrant grandparents had to make leaving their native country.”
Without speaking English, my grandmother
taught me to play Cat’s Cradle, one rainy
afternoon. We sat facing each other,
beside her black Singer sewing machine –
the name in goldleaf, an iron foot-pedal
underneath. I could see my reflection
in her glasses, as she held out her hands
to make a tight bridge from a loop of string.
She learned the game as a girl crossing
the Atlantic Ocean to Ellis Island,
where a guard smiled at her and shook his head,
after failing to pronounce our family’s
consonant-cluttered native surname. Then,
smiling again, he crossed it out and wrote Levine.
From Passager Issue 75, Richard Levine’s poem “Cat’s Cradle.”
Alice Duggan’s daughter-in-law bought a robot project for a little girl and her grandfather to build together. Here’s Alice’s poem “Her Various Spells.”
Her tangled hair, her seven years, her magical power –
she is a witch; and this we know when she waves
a plastic finger at us, a sharp red nail:
I curse you, Grandma.
Okay, I say. I’ll try to get used to it.
I curse you, Grandpa.
But he objects. Will not continue work on
the robot they’re building together. Now
she has to think fast.
You be the good witch, she tells me. I wave
my arms widely to uncurse him, and both
of them get back to work.
I am not cured. In fact I feel well adapted
to my curse. My only love was a small town,
wrenched from my arms. Now
I’m cursed with adaptability and
rootlessness. I’m hiding in my own
heart. But I have a granddaughter.
That is respectability at its peak, and must mean
this is home. It takes a long time to build this robot.
She takes a break from needle nosed pliers,
turns back to magic. It’s much quicker. Your grants
are wishes, she tells us. We agree.
From the Winter ’25 issue of Passager, “Her Various Spells” by Alice Duggan.
And finally, this letter to Passager’s editors . . .
About a month ago my oldest grandchild found the poem “A Winter Lament” that I had written over 40 years ago! It was placed in a book of Romantic Poetry that she had borrowed. Since then she has hounded me to continue writing poetry, although I told her that I think I’m just a one poem poet! A close friend has encouraged me to submit some of my attempts to Passager, so here goes! Thanks to her, I have found a creative outlet for some of my thoughts and feelings and a strong and cherished bond with my grandchild!
Sincerely yours, Sue Marcus
We’ve been listening to pieces in honor of National Grandparents Day. You know how at various moments you’ve had questions about details of your family, and all the people who could’ve answered it for you are dead? Our children and grandchildren probably have or will have questions, too. And we might be the last people who know the answers to those questions. Talk to your kids and grandkids and grandnieces and nephews, or write it down before it’s too late.
To subscribe to, donate to, or learn more about Passager and its commitment to older writers, visit passagerbooks.com.
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For Christine, Rosanne, Mary, Asher, and the rest of the Passager staff, I’m Jon Shorr.
Not pictured: Sue Marcus
