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I have reflected on the challenges of being a grandparent. Grandparents are experienced at parenting, but, like parenting, it is learn-as-you-go on a “grand” scale. When Camdyn was born I was surprised by the overwhelming sense of responsibility I felt, followed by the intense awareness that the only authority I had was moral influence and I had squandered that trying to be a good dad – why didn’t I buy more toys and discipline less? Once a chief potentate, a grandparent is reduced to the role of powerless ex-president, always on display during a crisis, never at the table of power, once the star, now the supporting actor. What an irony, you finally know what to do, no one cares.
Let me illustrate, it is the parent’s job to govern the child in a manner that helps him or her develop an internal guidance system for discerning right from wrong, good from evil. Grandparents have mastered this art of discipline. We know where the boundaries should be set. Without even thinking we know what transgressions deserve a “guiding hand” and which ones will carry their own consequential lessons. We learned years ago. Now, forced to sit in the bleachers we watch amateurs fumble the ball and we can’t even yell at the refs; they would throw us out of the building faster than an infant can dirty a diaper.
I have a suggestion. Every child should be considered a minor until their first child enters middle school. In other words, grandparents should continue to coach their own children through about the third inning of their lives as parents. Middle School is about the right time to retire – the rules all change around then and nobody knows what they are doing anyway.
On second thought, life is too much fun in the bleachers.
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Seriously, Alethea and Justin are wonderful parents. I am thankful every day they are the parents of my grandchildren. Then again, they were both raised by pros.
Charlie is super neat when he eats.
Camdyn took this picture. Notice how centered it is.
2 comments:
In the pictures you post on this blog, I never see you and Cheryl look more happy and relaxed than when you're with your grandbabies. What a blessing they must be to you guys. (and good job, Ms. Photographer Camdyn!)
I must admit that I have not laughed that hard reading prose since Donald Miller's celebration of the bathroom cafe and other oddities in his introduction to "Searching for God Knows What." Particularly amusing was the fumbling analogy and what is probably a similar look of terror which my own Mom gets in response to a well-timed glance from Katherine or I signaling she is on the threshold of ejection (even if only a brief dismissal).
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