In the realm of polite society, there exists an unwritten yet widely acknowledged protocol when interacting with our youngest and eldest members: one refrains from labeling toddlers as "babies" (attempt such a moniker and witness the ensuing reaction) and avoids bestowing the adjective "old" upon the elderly. However, this code possesses a curious exception; an elder freely dubs anyone younger a "baby," and a child gleefully tags every adult as "old."
Recently, my nephew was astounded to learn that his parents and aunts hailed from "the 1900s," a stark reminder for me, having recently turned 30, that aging is not a distant, whimsical notion but a reality others can perceive and project onto me — particularly those whose lives are just budding. Barbara too received a similar wake-up call when her daughter, Taylor, announced the impending addition to their family, cementing Barbara's status as the fabulously chic grandma at Abbott Elementary.
Initially, Barbara was overjoyed at the news, which conveniently preceded the 100th day of school, an exhilarating event for her kindergarten charges, who would don centenarian garb to celebrate the milestone. She beamed with excitement as she pondered potential baby names and had her class dance in jubilant abandon for 100 seconds. Yet, the prospect of Taylor moving back home and her daughter's assurance of "everyday" assistance soon soured her elation. Barbara realized she might not be as prepared for grandmotherhood as she initially thought.
Her coworkers' reactions to the announcement only exacerbated her qualms. They regaled her with tales of their own grandmothers, most of whom were deceased or, in Ava's case, senile. The final straw was Ava's pronouncement that all great grandmas required but two essentials: "hypertension and a muumuu." Now, we all are aware that Barbara would never be seen dead in a muumuu (caftans are her royal domain!), and her flawless skin is a far cry from elderly indicators. Yet, she couldn't shake off the ancient connotations entwined with the title of grandparent.
Sheryl Lee Ralph is the quintessential actress for this narrative thread. Her career stands testament to the fact that longevity is both a blessing and a gift, and, as she has oft stated, aging is a prospect to embrace when considering the alternative. As a 67-year-old Emmy winner, Ralph understands better than anyone that the summit of one mountain is merely the base of another — wisdom she would impart to her younger self. She imbues this wisdom into her portrayal of Barbara, who requires encouragement to grasp that grandparenthood marks the commencement of a journey, not its conclusion.
However, reaching this conclusion is challenging when surrounded by youth, particularly on a day when children cosplay as senior citizens, shuffling into her classroom adorned with gray wigs, tiny walkers, and wrinkles meticulously contoured onto their cherubic faces with makeup. Margaret, one of her students, gazed up at Barbara with excitement, hammering the final nail into the coffin as she exclaimed, "I'm dressed as you! Because you're 100 years old! You're the oldest person we know!"
Barbara is utterly taken aback by the assertion that she "looks fantastic for 100," prompting Melissa to step in and soothe her friend's ruffled feathers by reminding her that children seldom possess an acute perception of time or the aging process. To underscore her point, Melissa enlists a student to guess their ages. He estimates Melissa at 45, Gregory at 37, and Janine at 19, seeming to validate Melissa's argument—until he takes an unexpected turn by pegging Barbara at 63. He elaborates further, explaining that it's not her skin that betrays her age but her overall demeanor—from her cardigan and pearls to her precise diction—that hints at her advanced years. Frustrated, Barbara turns to Ava for assistance in rejuvenating her appearance, and together they rummage through Ava's office closet, enabling Ava to live out her movie-makeover fantasies. However, the transformation resembles watching 'Pretty Woman' in reverse, with Barbara emerging more as a trendy City Girl than a grandmother. Donning bedazzled low-rise jeans and a cropped denim jacket adorned with fur lapels, she unveils her new look just in time for the 100th-day parade, earning praise even from Crystal, the mother who runs Forever Bitch Apparel.
As Barbara embraces her next chapter, Jacob inadvertently sets Melissa on a wild goose chase—please, don't tell her I likened Sweet Cheeks to a rat, but the pun was too tempting. His slip of the tongue has landed him in a pickle, exacerbated by the impending parade, with students about to march through Abbott. Seeking forgiveness for insulting Sweet Cheeks, Jacob gifts the pet an exercise ball to boost its cardiovascular health and combat its lethargy. While the roommates make amends, Sweet Cheeks slips out of the ball, sending Melissa into a tizzy as she frantically searches for the rodent before the parade. Mr. Johnson joins in the hunt, comically dislodging a cafeteria worker's hat in fear of a 'Ratatouille'-like scenario unfolding.
Meanwhile, Janine and Gregory are happily entwined in love, as Abbott shifts its focus to the burgeoning romance between Ava and O'Shon. As their text exchanges become a daily ritual and O'Shon becomes a familiar face at the school, he feels it's time to ask Ava out. She is more than ready for their courtship to blossom, as evidenced by her colorful expletives detailing her desires for O'Shon. On his latest visit to Abbott, O'Shon confides in Gregory his intentions to ask Ava out, prompting Janine to burst into Gregory's classroom, eager to meddle in Ava's love life after weeks of observing the tension between the principal and the IT tech. Janine and Gregory bombard O'Shon with suggestions for a first date with Ava, who they deem high-maintenance. Their unsolicited advice ranges from dining at Michelin-starred restaurants to attending movie premieres and opting for "gigantic" golf instead of "mini" golf. Ignoring the couple, O'Shon uses their advice as a guide on what not to do and instead casually asks Ava out on a date, finally elevating their relationship to the next level.
Gathered in the gymnasium, the crowd eagerly anticipates the parade, as students don their elaborate costumes and the melodious notes of "Forever Young" resonate through the loudspeakers. Melissa, Jacob, and Mr. Johnson persist in their desperate quest for Sweet Cheeks, their hearts pounding until the eleventh hour. With mere seconds to spare, they narrowly escape a chaotic collision with the rhythmic steps of the dance team, who groove to Kirk Franklin's "Stomp," before ultimately uncovering the tiny guinea pig nestled beneath the shroud of a mop head.
As the parade draws to a close, Janine steers Barbara into her classroom, seeking a private moment to delve into the mysteries of Barbara's transformation. Barbara confesses to being engulfed by the daunting reality of impending grandmotherhood. The mere thought of her life's pause to nurture the newborn fills her with dread, accelerating her fears of the inevitable journey towards eternity. She laments her unreadiness to embrace the rapid descent into "that old age, so soon." Yet, Janine pivots the conversation, donning the supportive role that Barbara often extends to her. She empowers Barbara to carve her own path as a grandparent, urging her to establish boundaries that reflect her true self.
Janine insists that her mentor could never conform to the stereotype of a muumuu-clad grandma; her spirit is far too cool and glamorous. With a flourish, she bestows upon Barbara a moniker that encapsulates her essence: Glam-ma. However, a twist emerges—the baby's paternal grandmother also harbors ambitions for the title. Now, we can only hope and pray that Taylor's future mother-in-law makes an entrance, setting the stage for an epic clash between the two Glam-ma aspirants.
