I became a grandfather at 55, one of life’s sweet spots. I was old enough to know something about children, young enough to care for them as a parent would. With equal ease, I could feed, diaper and roll on the floor with my grandchildren.
Three years ago, I became a great-grandfather. I know even more about children, but feeding, diapering and rolling on the floor have given way to hugging and reading to them. It seems my 96-year-old fingers are not supple enough for the newest generation of diapers.
I ran six-mile races with my grandchildren. It’s steps, not miles, I walk with my three-year-old great-grandson before my legs begin protesting.
How then do I rekindle with my great-grandchildren the closeness I had with my grandchildren. I don’t want them to ask “Who’s PopPop?” I want them to say–as my grandchildren did– “If we can’t see PopPop, let’s call him! I want to talk to him.”
Before I lost her, my wife and I opened our home to our grandchildren whenever their parents visited or sought time alone. Covering the floor with books, games, toys and spaces to crawl through made our living room one big playpen.
An occasional acquaintance– especially one who had no grandchildren–would exclaim, “We could never have all these things laying around in our home!”
Muriel and I wanted our grandchildren to anticipate a visit to our home as fun, not a test of neatness. Children skipping from toy to toy was all that mattered, not the floor somewhere under that cavalcade of fun.
In barely an hour we returned the room to its adult purposes, often breaking into laughter when we found toys hidden in unexpected places.
If more than two weeks passed without a visit from our children and their children, Muriel and I stayed in close touch by telephone. We created a bond with our grandchildren that thrives today.
All three of my great-grandchildren live across the country in California. How do I remain close when they aren’t forty minutes away by car as my grandchildren were. I do fly to visit them, but mostly I Facetime and hug, read and play with them virtually.
I quickly learned grandchildren are raising their children very differently than their parents raised them. My grandchildren ask that I text them rather than call unexpectedly as we did their parents. They then call when their children aren’t demanding attention or eating. It’s during those moments we talk and I can play virtually with my great-grandchildren.
There are bigger changes. Throughout the generations, it was mothers who decided when it was time to stop nursing their babies. Apparently, that decision is now claimed by the baby. My grandson’s wife and my granddaughter both nursed until their babies elected “baby-led weaning.” The baby weans themselves when they’ve decided “Enough with nursing; I’m ready for real food!”
And real food isn’t the Gerber puree we spooned into our children and our children spooned into their children. My seven-month old great-granddaughter now gnaws at a chicken leg or dines on mini-versions of the same food her three-year-old brother and parents are eating. Fortunately, new bibs have a large pocket that collects all the uneaten food that dribbles down.
Computers, smartphones and the latest technical equipment abound in the homes of my grandchildren. My great-granddaughter’s slightest stir in her crib is transmitted to her parents bedroom.
But there are no television sets or video games to distract my great-grandchildren. “We keep them away from screens” I’m told when I ask if they worry about the internet lurking for their children.
When I Facetime, I can see and hear my great-grandchildren. They can hear me, but there is no screen they can gaze into to see me. We’ve come as close to hugging each other as technology permits. It takes a cross country flight for me to hold my great-grandchildren and feel their hearts beating against mine.
My grandchildren know flying is increasingly challenging as I age. Cancelled and delayed flights, seats designed to constrict rather than offer comfort, long lines, suspicious TSA agents and a small bag of something that passes for airline food weigh heavily on my ninety-six-year-old body. My grandchildren love me and do everything possible to soften the sharp edges of cross-country travel.
They meet me at the airport, insist I stay at their home and not at a hotel, delay tasks so they and their children can be with me. The day will certainly come when my great-grandchildren can travel with a book and little more. But, until then, I’m going to fly to see them and cherish the closeness my grandchildren want me to have with their children.
Just as I was about to finish this essay, I received back-to-back telephone calls from both grandchildren, telling me their children wanted to play with me. Of course, we would play virtually. We will find a way for our hearts to beat against each other on their journey across the country.
Oh, yes. I was asked if I could come to California in October to visit both families. My great-grandchildren and their parents missed me. It seems I’ve found a way to make the journey from grandfather to great-grandfather.
Bob’s articles have appeared in The New York Times, The San Francisco Chronicle and in Next Avenue, the publication of the Public Broadcasting Service. His book, “What’s Stopping Me From Getting Ahead?” was published by McGraw Hill and is in five languages.
