The story behind this song
Oatmeal with cinnamon at seven sharp, the old sedan tuned to a station nobody else understands, a permission slip signed in a steady hand. They had already raised their children. They'd earned the quiet. Then life asked again, and they left the hallway light on every night without a word of complaint.
Fractions taught with a tape measure and scrap wood. The silver heads at parent night who never once acted like you'd come too soon. They called it Tuesday; the world calls it everything. For the grandparents who set another place, hung another coat, and made a second childhood feel like home.
Lyrics
Then you rolled your sleeves again
Radio on the station nobody my age understands
Oatmeal with cinnamon, the smell of it at seven
You signed my permission slips with your steady hand
Instead you left the hallway light on every night
You'd already given everything, then you gave it all again
The second shift of loving, the encore no one plans
I'm standing here because, Grandpa, Grandma
I grew up in your hands
Said school comes first, then showed me what patience could
Parent nights where you two were the silver in the room
You never once acted like I'd come too soon
Instead you learned my teachers' names by heart, like new parents would
You'd already given everything, then you gave it all again
The second shift of loving, the encore no one plans
I'm standing here because, Grandpa, Grandma
I grew up in your hands
Set another place, hung another coat
You made a second childhood feel like home
You'd already given everything, then you gave it all again
The second shift of loving, the encore no one plans
I'm standing here because, Grandpa, Grandma
I grew up in your hands
Thank you for doing mine
Write your own
Someone in your life deserves a song like this
Tell us about them. We turn your story into a song they’ll play until they cry — then play again. Yours in 24–48 hours.
Create your songMore songs to hear
