Jacob Marlowe
I WAS A GRANDPA
The anticipation of becoming a grandpa is remarkably pleasant for being such a wake-up call. I could no longer deny the reality of having aged. I’d been accepting “senior discounts” for five years, trimming hair from my ear lobes for four years and rationalizing aches, hair color changes, and popping knees every time I stood up. I’ve even secretly laughed at grandpas twenty years my junior. I’d had my 60th. By birth day, I’d have passed my 61st. And my baby was becoming a father, though he wasn’t in any hurry – he’d be 28 on birth day.
So now I try to figure it all out.
What will he call me, this new guy (as we soon discover) who is beginning to rule all of our hearts? I settle on Paa-Pa, though I don’t know why and I’ve never heard it before.
What wisdom do I pass on about being a parent and when is the best time to do it? It is unfortunate that the majority of what I know about being a good parent has resulted from being a lousy one. But a lesson learned is a lesson learned.
Do I tell him how to be a Dad or tell her how to be a Mom? I’ve never been a Mom, good or bad, so that’s probably not the best idea. Blessedly, we have Reidel, an excellent Mom, if we can help her accept being a grandma just because she is now married to a grandpa.
So do I assume that he knows how to be a good dad because he is a degreed, bi-state-licensed Marriage and Family therapist? There is a good amount of peace in that, but aren’t I supposed to pass on advice as fulfillment of part of my parental duties? How does one advise a therapist about being a parent? But is being a parent the same as talking to people about being a parent? Isn’t it generally true that it’s easier to tell other people how to do something than it is to do it yourself? Does being one of eight give her the insights to be a good Mom? She so much wants to be one, but is there something I should say? Do they need my help? Why am I so insecure about this?
Maybe I should just follow the guidance that I keep giving other parents of adult children – “You’re now a spectator, and, WHEN ASKED, an advisor”. Yeah, that feels comfortable, mainly because it doesn’t require me to say anything until asked.
What should I buy for him? Clothes? Savings bonds? Toys? Should I be buying him stuff? Reidel’s buying clothes like crazy, so that’s taken care of. Maybe just wait and see what needs come up as time passes? Yeah, that feels comfortable, mainly because it doesn’t require an actual decision.
Speaking of toys, I can’t wait to teach him baseball, basketball, Frisbee, marbles, volleyball, swimming, miniature golf, tennis, football…who am I kidding? By the time he’s 10, I’ll be 71. Well, there’s always spelling, geography, history, arithmetic, astronomy... oh, yeah, I could’ve been a much better father.
Am I boring everybody by talking about him all the time? Announcements at Chambers of Commerce meetings (I’m a member of five – that’s a lot of meetings, frequently with overlapping attendees), clients, potential clients, new friends, old friends, internet contacts (whether I know them or not), he’s always on the tip of my tongue. But everybody seems to take it well. And I don’t care – they’re going to hear about him anyway.
How does this make other people perceive me? I once had a client who was about to become a grandpa at age 38, so they may presume that I’m younger than I am. Or have they already been assuming that I must be a grandpa already because I’m so old? Why does this seem to be so much about me? I’ve now used “I” more than 20 times in this document. This isn’t about me; haven’t I already decided that I’m a spectator?
I’m monitoring his progress, asking questions, listening to reports. Listening hard, without being obvious, for facts, for doubts, for hints of problems, for concerns, for needs I can fulfill, for anything I can do or say that would be helpful. Time is passing; he’s going to be here soon. Am I doing everything I’m supposed to do? I, I, I, I…
Do they have what they need? What do they need? Who else is providing what they need and how do I avoid stepping on the toes of those people? Their church is being very helpful and I want to allow them to be the blessing they want to be. Am I getting in the way? Am I treating Reidel too much like a grandma and not enough like my sweet baboo? Am I nuts???
Phone rings – “They’re going to deliver him by Caesarean tomorrow.” When should I get there? Should I transport anyone? It’s sooner than expected and he’s small, is everything going to be OK? Waiting rooms make me tense.
Well, there he is! Wow, he’s very handsome, cute, beautiful, has all his fingers and toes, an excellent grip (his whole hand grasps one knuckle of my pinky). I would be more comfortable if he cried more, but that’s a strange thing to be concerned about. I didn’t think Reidel could possibly be more beautiful, but look at her with him. Wow.
Finally, he’s home. Visit often, take pictures, give to meet needs that are seen (or unseen, but felt), call, ask, hold, hug, take pictures, take videos (love the “little poops” video), visit, talk goo-goo, hold, hug and look deep into those incredible eyes – all of it the very definition of “grandparenting” and all of it so effortlessly natural. How long before I can take him out and start spoiling him and teaching him about the stars?
Awakened from sleep by The Worst Phone Call Possible.
The worst day of my life was May 4, 2008 – I hate May 4th and I always will.
The worst week of my life.
The worst month of my life.
The greatest disappointment and pain conceivable.
I was a grandpa for 46 days.
I loved 45 of them very much. See my memories here - I love to show him off.
And always will.
Read MoreThe anticipation of becoming a grandpa is remarkably pleasant for being such a wake-up call. I could no longer deny the reality of having aged. I’d been accepting “senior discounts” for five years, trimming hair from my ear lobes for four years and rationalizing aches, hair color changes, and popping knees every time I stood up. I’ve even secretly laughed at grandpas twenty years my junior. I’d had my 60th. By birth day, I’d have passed my 61st. And my baby was becoming a father, though he wasn’t in any hurry – he’d be 28 on birth day.
So now I try to figure it all out.
What will he call me, this new guy (as we soon discover) who is beginning to rule all of our hearts? I settle on Paa-Pa, though I don’t know why and I’ve never heard it before.
What wisdom do I pass on about being a parent and when is the best time to do it? It is unfortunate that the majority of what I know about being a good parent has resulted from being a lousy one. But a lesson learned is a lesson learned.
Do I tell him how to be a Dad or tell her how to be a Mom? I’ve never been a Mom, good or bad, so that’s probably not the best idea. Blessedly, we have Reidel, an excellent Mom, if we can help her accept being a grandma just because she is now married to a grandpa.
So do I assume that he knows how to be a good dad because he is a degreed, bi-state-licensed Marriage and Family therapist? There is a good amount of peace in that, but aren’t I supposed to pass on advice as fulfillment of part of my parental duties? How does one advise a therapist about being a parent? But is being a parent the same as talking to people about being a parent? Isn’t it generally true that it’s easier to tell other people how to do something than it is to do it yourself? Does being one of eight give her the insights to be a good Mom? She so much wants to be one, but is there something I should say? Do they need my help? Why am I so insecure about this?
Maybe I should just follow the guidance that I keep giving other parents of adult children – “You’re now a spectator, and, WHEN ASKED, an advisor”. Yeah, that feels comfortable, mainly because it doesn’t require me to say anything until asked.
What should I buy for him? Clothes? Savings bonds? Toys? Should I be buying him stuff? Reidel’s buying clothes like crazy, so that’s taken care of. Maybe just wait and see what needs come up as time passes? Yeah, that feels comfortable, mainly because it doesn’t require an actual decision.
Speaking of toys, I can’t wait to teach him baseball, basketball, Frisbee, marbles, volleyball, swimming, miniature golf, tennis, football…who am I kidding? By the time he’s 10, I’ll be 71. Well, there’s always spelling, geography, history, arithmetic, astronomy... oh, yeah, I could’ve been a much better father.
Am I boring everybody by talking about him all the time? Announcements at Chambers of Commerce meetings (I’m a member of five – that’s a lot of meetings, frequently with overlapping attendees), clients, potential clients, new friends, old friends, internet contacts (whether I know them or not), he’s always on the tip of my tongue. But everybody seems to take it well. And I don’t care – they’re going to hear about him anyway.
How does this make other people perceive me? I once had a client who was about to become a grandpa at age 38, so they may presume that I’m younger than I am. Or have they already been assuming that I must be a grandpa already because I’m so old? Why does this seem to be so much about me? I’ve now used “I” more than 20 times in this document. This isn’t about me; haven’t I already decided that I’m a spectator?
I’m monitoring his progress, asking questions, listening to reports. Listening hard, without being obvious, for facts, for doubts, for hints of problems, for concerns, for needs I can fulfill, for anything I can do or say that would be helpful. Time is passing; he’s going to be here soon. Am I doing everything I’m supposed to do? I, I, I, I…
Do they have what they need? What do they need? Who else is providing what they need and how do I avoid stepping on the toes of those people? Their church is being very helpful and I want to allow them to be the blessing they want to be. Am I getting in the way? Am I treating Reidel too much like a grandma and not enough like my sweet baboo? Am I nuts???
Phone rings – “They’re going to deliver him by Caesarean tomorrow.” When should I get there? Should I transport anyone? It’s sooner than expected and he’s small, is everything going to be OK? Waiting rooms make me tense.
Well, there he is! Wow, he’s very handsome, cute, beautiful, has all his fingers and toes, an excellent grip (his whole hand grasps one knuckle of my pinky). I would be more comfortable if he cried more, but that’s a strange thing to be concerned about. I didn’t think Reidel could possibly be more beautiful, but look at her with him. Wow.
Finally, he’s home. Visit often, take pictures, give to meet needs that are seen (or unseen, but felt), call, ask, hold, hug, take pictures, take videos (love the “little poops” video), visit, talk goo-goo, hold, hug and look deep into those incredible eyes – all of it the very definition of “grandparenting” and all of it so effortlessly natural. How long before I can take him out and start spoiling him and teaching him about the stars?
Awakened from sleep by The Worst Phone Call Possible.
The worst day of my life was May 4, 2008 – I hate May 4th and I always will.
The worst week of my life.
The worst month of my life.
The greatest disappointment and pain conceivable.
I was a grandpa for 46 days.
I loved 45 of them very much. See my memories here - I love to show him off.
And always will.
