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A growing share of grandparents are turning down the two words their own families used without question. Ellen J. Klausner, a clinical psychologist in the New York area who works on the mental health of older adults, says the mismatch is about self-image. “Many baby boomers have a hard time reconciling their vibrant, vital and active selves with the traditional names,” she says. “They think of themselves as organizing and running marathons and associate those traditional monikers with a more sedentary lifestyle.” The replacements are not borrowed from another language. They are built from first names, toddler speech errors, television characters and private jokes. Gigi, LeeLee, Boo, Duchy, Jefe and Pup Pup are all real answers from real families.
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The assumption is that nicknames have always been personal. They have not. One writer recalls her family using Grandma Rose and Grandma Bessie purely to tell two women apart, with the single surviving grandfather called nothing more elaborate than Grandpa. Her own children used Grandma and Grandpa for the one living set they had. Terms of endearment existed. Nona, Bubbe and Oma circulated in households that carried Italian, Yiddish and German roots. But those are still translations. In nearly every family she knew, the title was a word that meant grandmother or grandfather in some language. The invention came later.
There is a structural reason the names multiplied, separate from anyone’s vanity about age. Klausner points to increased longevity. Families now routinely have great-grandparents still living, which means two or three generations of elders are present at the same dinner table. Stack blended and step families on top of that and the problem compounds. “That, coupled with a greater incidence of step and blended families,” she says, “means that names have to differentiate between the generations and different extended families.” Four women answering to Grandma at one birthday party is not sentimental, it is confusing. Distinct names solve a logistics problem before they solve an identity one.
Plenty of grandparents still want the old words, and they want them for reasons that have nothing to do with defaulting. Anne and Art McGivern picked Grandma and Grandpa for all nine of their grandchildren on purpose. “We loved our grandparents, who were called this, and it’s often a reminder to us of them,” Anne says. “As we hear those little voices calling out to us, we sometimes think of our grandparents, and the happiness they brought into our lives and hope we are doing the same.” Klausner describes the same impulse clinically. Some people cherish memories of grandparents they felt exceptionally close to, she says, and relish the tradition of moving into this phase themselves.
Between full tradition and full invention sits a middle option: keep a familiar word and change how it sounds. Ellen Harmon asked to be called Granny, but with a British inflection, rendered as Grahhny. The model was specific. She took it from the way Mary addresses Maggie Smith’s character in Downton Abbey. “I always thought it sounded lovely and Grandma was just too boring to me,” she says. That is a small adjustment doing real work. The word still signals grandmother to anyone who hears it, so nobody has to explain the relationship, while the pronunciation carries a different set of associations entirely.
Adults can request whatever they like. The person learning to talk has veto power, because a two-year-old cannot produce the consonant cluster in Grandma or Grandpa and will substitute something easier. Bob Wise wanted Grandpa. His first grandchild, Savannah, could not manage it and produced Pip instead. “That stuck, and so now that’s what we all call him,” says his wife Alison, who is Grammy. Randi Mogil expected Grandma, since her own children used it. Her grandson Kaiden arrived at Gaga. “Gaga was his interpretation of Grandma and it works for me,” she says. If you have a preference, the practical advice is to choose something a toddler can physically say.
A few grandparents skipped the trial-and-error entirely and designed around the toddler constraint from the start. Diane Levy asked for Gaga directly. “Grandma sounded too formal and difficult to pronounce in the early years,” she says, “and Gaga sounds good together with Papa, my husband’s name.” Mimi follows the same logic and shows up repeatedly. Ann Bowe is Mimi, paired with Pop Bowe. Lisa Ellis is Mimi, paired with Papa. Her reasoning was about timing rather than phonetics. “I was 53 with my first grandchild and I felt I was too young to be called Grandma,” Ellis says.
The single largest category of new names is not invented from nothing. It is the grandmother’s own first name, shortened and doubled. Gabby McCree is Gigi, which abbreviates Grandma Gabby and also matches the initials she used growing up. Her husband Don took Pop Pop. Lisa Beck, a first-time grandmother, made up LeeLee from her first name because “it’s more fun than Grandma.” Bonnie Metzger is Bon Bon, with Jerry as Poppy. Lois Lust is LoLo. Lois inherited the method. “My mother and maternal grandmother were called by a variation of their first name by their grandchildren,” she says. “It seemed logical and felt right as a tradition.”
The outliers come from nowhere near the family tree. Jeff Brodsky asked to be called Jefe, pronounced Heff-ay, the Spanish word for chief. “My sixth grade Spanish teacher called me that and I always liked it,” he says. His wife Lori is a Mimi. Sharon Polan became fascinated by an etching of the Duchess of Marlborough and declared she would be Duchy. “I was in my 50s when my first grandson was born, and I just didn’t see myself as a granny,” she says. Her husband turned down Duke and took Pop Pop. Suzan Rose invented the play name Boonita the Sweeta and shortened it to Boo. Martin answers to Pops.
The furthest end of the trend drops the grandparent word completely. Amy Finklestein was not enthusiastic about Grandma anyway. Her only grandchild, Tommy, could not say it, heard the adults around him using her first name, and copied them. “So when he heard everyone else call me Amy, he just did the same, so Amy it is,” she says. Her husband Howard became Oward. “It’s very cute and funny.” The writer of the original piece has only a granddog so far, named Gypsy. She has La La reserved, built from her own first name. Her husband, a veterinarian, wants Pup Pup. The practical takeaway: pick something two syllables long and easy to repeat, then accept that the child decides.
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