Jill's Journal: ‘You smell like my grandma’

There’s something special about stepping inside a second-grade classroom. I remember that grade being one of my most favorite years of school.

Perhaps it was my teacher, Miss Kulseth. She was young, probably just out of college, maybe a year or two at best. Or maybe it was the game of Candyland that I so well remember playing over and over and over again. Or perhaps it was the kids in my class, kids that I began and ended my educational journey with.

I remember it being a year that we worked to perfect our penmanship, solved math problems and performed silly little skits. Recess was the bomb. And our classrooms were held in a portable building, which at the time, seemed sort of special to 7- or 8-year-old.

Last week, I had the honor of stepping inside Jayna Silvernail’s second-grade classroom at Robert Bennis Elementary. Immediately, I got the sense that decades from now, there will be many just like me, who has fond memories of their second-grade teacher.

While Mrs. Silvernail experiences little moments with the kids in her classroom multiple times a day, in my brief visit last week, one little gal let me now that she’s “seen me before.”

Another shared that her picture was in the newspaper for her science fair project. I get a kick out of the fact that she was quick to mention that. It’s clear that one simple little photo in the community newspaper remains well engrained in her memories.

Just as I was putting my coat back on, another little girl shared, “You smell like my grandma.”

Hmmmmm … does she mean a good smell or a bad smell? I did shower that morning.

Perhaps it was the look on my face, but she clarified that it was my perfume that “smelled” like her grandma.

I confessed to her that I only wear one scent – Eternity – which I’ve worn for longer than the little girl’s been on this good earth.

I’ve had lots of compliments on the scent I wear over the years, but this was the first time I’d ever been told that I reminded someone of their grandma. 

“Yep,” the youngster went on to say, “It’s just one squirt and it lasts the entire day.”

Well, yes and no.

I usually give a little squirt to my wrist and another to my neck area, so technically, two squirts each morning, and maybe a refresher before heading out to a basketball game or a city council meeting that evening.

It was eons ago that I happened to be at Robert Bennis Elementary, and I remember it oh, so well. It was a beautiful Friday spring day, and I had just wrapped up an interview with someone in the building, and was about to call it quits for the day. I had a piece of gum in my mouth that was created just for blowing bubbles, and at the time I met up with a couple of youngsters in the hallway, I was nearly skipping down the hallway. It was simply one of those days where life felt good, especially since the weekend was just a matter of minutes away.

Right about this time, I was within an earshot of their conversation, and of course, this ol’ reporter’s ears perked up when I heard one boy ask the other, “Is that your grandma?”

“Nope,” was the quick answer, “I don’t know who she is.”

“Grandma!” I thought to myself, how can that be? In my own mind, I was young, wasn’t I? After all, I was blowing bubbles and nearly at a skip. But looking back, 7- and 8-year-olds honestly haven’t grasped the full concept of age, appropriate comments, and when one should whisper those appropriate comments.

While I may not officially be a grandma, in the eyes of little ones, a woman with a skip in her step and blowing bubbles is no spring chicken.