“We take the long view,” we tell our 13-year-old grandson, meaning he doesn’t like museums and we’re going anyway. After all, it’s February break and we have to do something real, don’t we? “You’ll thank us in 20 years,” we promise.
February school vacation week poses a challenge for all us grandparents everywhere, once again on deck, stepping into the breach, ready to extract beloved grandkids from their devices and screens. But this year the weather was iffy. With so little snow, there were fewer options for outdoor activities, such as tracking bobcats on snowshoes. (That was a winner several years back.) Our go-to plan inevitably involves indoor activities, i.e., museums. Last year, we visited two in one day — natural history plus art. Our boy moved through both of them in record time, gathering information (or not) as he flew at warp speed.
Over the summer, we headed out to see the Van Gogh exhibit at The Clark. Again speed took precedence over art appreciation. To be fair, he was the one who pointed out that an artifact on display was the same artifact in a painting, much to the amazement of the rest of the viewers, who had missed the connection. But of course he was off before praise could be received.
This year, we decided to go to MASS MoCA, the contemporary art museum in North Adams. We tried to whet his appetite: a scenic drive along the Mohawk trail, a treacherous hairpin turn, a renovated old mill building with cavernous halls and vast spaces, not to mention video installations and food. “It’ll be surprising,” we said, summoning up our best dramatic expression. “There are even upside down trees.” Our boy shrugged, looking neither inspired nor wondrous, rather doing his newest approximation of adolescent cool. Still, he was ready on time, and there appeared a bounce to his step.
Once there, we, the grandparents, were immediately awed by the building and its stunning renovations. It was vast, bright and unique. There were a number of large exhibits to explore. In no time, our boy began leading the charge, snaking up the three floors along winding metal stairs with sweeping views of interior and exterior landscapes.
We ventured into rooms with maze-like walls and great canvases of eye-popping geometric designs, then long chambers with installations that seemed to define empty space. It seemed perfect for games of hide and seek. (Where was our boy now?) And quite the workout, as we tried to keep pace. At various moments, we reined in our boy to point out particular sightings: a pulsating video wave, colorful wigs that reminded him of the “Hunger Games” movie, or sculpted murals created out of socks. In the KIDSPACE arena, 4-year-old Emma briefly adopted our grandson, insisting he share her earphones, which were unfortunately out of order in an interactive exhibit. And then when it was time for lunch, we were more than ready to sit down.
“What did you most like? What will you remember?” These are conversation starters for the ride home. My husband shared his keen love of buildings. Our grand boy noted more than we suspected, and then asked us a curious question. “What happened to the mill anyway? What happened to all the people?”
Thus as we drove home, I realized an unanticipated point of this excursion. Through our grandchild’s eyes, I began to consider how we are all part of the long view, participants in a time continuum that curves backwards and forwards. This reconstructed mill/museum, as well as the many derelict ones we pass enroute or in our own hometown, were once vibrant centers of industry, employing thousands, though often under the harshest conditions, including child labor. My husband traced one of his ancestors to the Lowell mills. My own grandmother was a ”stitcher” in a garment factory. My father had once tried to organize unions in such mills and now grandchildren explore the past fitted into a contemporary setting. So what did happen? What will happen?
Perhaps that is the gift that grandchildren give their elders, a new lens to see the past through and a context for the future. As for art appreciation, that may take a few more February breaks. And then a surprise: A week later, a text from our grandson. “I’m at Lowell Mills,” it said. With the long view, you just never know!
Ruth Charney lives in Greenfield.