The blessings of grandkids
I have some grandsons up in the Fort Worth area I haven’t seen for quite awhile. I’ve thought about perhaps inviting them down for a visit during the summer, but given the shape in which my two little grandsons down here leave me each day, I don’t know if it would work, or if the young men would even want to take time from their own interests.
They’re way past that age where they could benefit from the homespun wisdom we elders possess, you know like “never ask a barber if you need a haircut” or “if you give a personal lesson in meanness to a critter or human, don’t be surprised if he learns it.” And probably the most important philosophy of all is that “most of the things folks worry about ain’t never going to happen.’ Good stuff, you know.
The two little grandkids down here, we see frequently. Sometimes I pick them up from day school where they are always bundles of energy and where finding one of them in “time out” is no surprise.
Sometimes we go for ice cream or chicken nuggets and then to the splash park or baby park or the swimming pool at the house.
Back at the house, among other toys they have a tricycle and a battery-powered Bat Car (both provided by their parents) that they ride around the concrete apron of the swimming pool.
Of course, we watch them constantly, warn them constantly, yell at them constantly.
Does it help?
That’s right. One day, the boys were on their vehicles, one trying to squirt past the other. A back wheel slid off, and in slow motion, Mikey hit the water. Before he was half way in, his Mom was right there-all the way in.
And the water was frigid. But like all mothers, she didn’t feel it, at first.
Hopefully, they’ll learn to swim this spring.
I have two boys of my own. I can remember how rowdy and rambunctious they were. That’s just part of being a boy. Keegan and Mikey are rowdy personified. Shout at them, and they think you’re playing.
The other day, I took the boys to the park. After a good while, I decided it was time to leave. To my surprise, then frustration, when I called them to me, they laughed, turned, and ran.
I couldn’t catch them. I wasn’t about to try. My joints that once purred like contented kittens now click and clack like skeleton bones on Halloween.
Now, I finesse the little guys.
When they ran, I shrugged and got in the truck. “So long, guys. I’m going to Dairy Queen. See you later.”
Okay, so I lied, and so they got teary eyed when we didn’t go to DQ. As soon as I pointed out the airplane (that didn’t exist) up in the sky, they dried up. You got to think fast with three- and five-year-olds. And fabricating the truth is an option I use without shame.
I thought I was pretty clever to finesse them by just walking away. I did it at the store one day.
Hold on, hold on all you zealots drooling at the mouth out there. I always keep them in sight. When I get around the corner, I stop and peek around.
I was surprised at the number of curious looks I get from customers seeing me peering around the corner of the Gladiola flour or Sunkist soft drinks displays.
As soon as the older ones saw me watching the kid down the aisle, they smiled knowingly and chuckled. Obviously, they’d used the same technique. So much for me being clever.
I love having the boys over. I love when they leave.
One of the regrets I’ll always have is that I wish I could have spent the same kind of quality time with my other grandsons.
But, I thank the good Lord everyday for what He’s given me.