Shamed by my Grandson

Every time that I would walk through one of my children’s rooms when they were younger, I pretty much had to shovel a pathway. There would be clothes, and book and toys blocking my every step, like land mines. Just like a point guard on patrol, I had to pick my steps carefully as not to trip or step on something and break it, or fall or break something on my body.

Then a few of my grandchildren have come back with their fathers and lived with me for a few years. One granddaughter in particular could have rivaled my kids for the Messy Room Award.

Any time that Bayleigh had to clean her room, she would leave one area in the middle of the room that was sparkling clean. Yet, if you looked along her walls, it was like rolling hills of clothes and toys piled up and they actually reached the window ledges.

The hot spot was under her bed. That was where she swept everything …toys, more clothes, and trash. I would uncover her hot spot when I ran a dust mop under the bed and unearthed all her treasures.

But flash forward to the present…a few days ago my oldest grandson, Matthew, was in my bedroom with me. I was showing him one of my autographed football jerseys. While we were talking, Matthew told me that my bedroom was nice (that was sweet), but it was messy (that was truthful).

Boy! He was right! The next day, out of shame, I cleaned my bedroom.  When I had finished it, there was absolutely nothing on my floor except a cleaned wooden floor. Everything was put away or thrown away. I was pretty proud of how it looked, all thanks to my grandson who shamed me into cleaning it.

Maybe if I had realized that shame was an all-important five letter word, I would have used it on my kids and my grandchild.