Rookie Grandfather Does His Best

“One of the most powerful handclasps is that of a new grand baby around the finger of a grandfather.”

Joy Hargrove

The Torn Costume

Until you become one, “grandfather-hood” is a mystery to most men.  Women seem to have a natural transition to becoming a grandmother, but I had no real concept of being a grandparent until the birth of one of my children’s children. Perhaps my blindness was due to the fact that my own childhood in Braidwood was void of any grandfather attachment. Without any training, I was launched into a role that was previously beyond my imagination.  

As soon as Addee came into the world, I soon found myself to be easily duped into agreeing to almost anything that was asked of me.  “Can I paint your toe nails?” Sure. (Explain that to the guys in the locker room.)

When a granddaughter wants to play “mass,” would I play the role of the priest.  Of course. I do it and get corrected immediately because I forget to kiss the altar.  (Who says that kids aren’t paying attention at church?) Next time, I ask her to be the priest and she replies that she is not old enough. Maybe, someday.

But being a grandfather assumes other roles that require a “toolbox” of skills and emergency kits. Like scotch tape. 

A Near Disaster

This was a special day. It could’ve been any one of the grandkids who were in it, especially the older ones who are now of an age when their schools put on special events at certain times of the year, such as Christmas, Easter, or Thanksgiving. This time it was Addee’s school at the Thanksgiving season.

Fortunately, St. Anne’s school was only seven convenient minutes from my office in Denver, and at a time that presented no conflicts with my schedule. I recall that Evan’s school in Parker took us about an hour to get to and hear him read at the school mass. Nikki and Lexi had been in a Thanksgiving presentation the year before at their school in Littleton. 

The first graders at St. Anne’s were all decked out in their handmade pilgrim attire, quite realistic looking if you are in first grade, and beautifully crafted if you are parent or grandparent. Their appearance on stage was wonderful. Their song sounded like the Vienna choir to those of us gathered there.

Halfway through their first song, it was painfully obvious to my daughter, Jacquie, and me that a mini-disaster had occurred to the only first grader we watched. Addee’s paper uniform had torn from around her neck and was falling from her. She held it on with both her hands but couldn’t hold back the flood of tears. What to do? Sitting and watching was not an option for me in the first row. Especially when Jacquie, holding her son, said – “She needs help. Go help her.”

Armed only with heartfelt sympathy and understanding, I jumped from my seat, walked to the right of the stage, and held my arms out to her, beckoning her, hoping to correct the situation. She walked over to me, probably confident that I would be able to fix everything, despite the fact that I had forgotten to bring glue or tape with me. My only creative thoughts were to tie the paper ends together or apply a generous coat of saliva in hopes it would stay.

To the rescue came the principal. She dashed to her office, returned with tape, and mended the costume in a way I could only have wished for. Returning to my seat, I felt complete as a grandpa. I was there for Addee’s comfort in the time that seem to so disastrous to her. She finished the play with the rest of her classmates, and later they came they came up to her and said she had done so well. They, too, felt her hurt.

Next time, I vow to have tape with me and once again sit in the front row where I can be easily accessible to help a grandchild.  And even have my toe nails painted.