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C’mon, how can that be? Look, she’s barely 18 months removed from her mommy’s tummy and yet because of reasons unexplainable, she knows who she owns. So, the topic of this narrative is my sweet little baby granddaughter Aria and the dude she owns lock, stock and barrel – yep, you guessed it …. yours truly.
However, to cast this narrative into a broader context this is about how grandkids in general and, in my case granddaughters, supplant neckties, cards and dinners as a special kind of Happy Father’s Day gift and accompanying happiness.
But before I go on, I don’t need research reports or psychological theories to confirm what I know as a fact; that the relationship between granddad and granddaughter is special and somewhat different from other family relationships. Just run this premise by grandads you know. I have a hunch that they’ll light up and talk your ears off about their personal experiences and unmatched love for their granddaughters. Go ahead, we’ll wait.
Okay, so bear with me as I say a bit more.
You see, the wife and I crisscrossed the country beginning with a round trip to California, an overnight neck jerking airplane sleep back to Atlanta then, after a two-hour nap, we fought through the traffic quagmire in Atlanta and thunderstorms in South Carolina on what’s normally a nine hour – this time 12-hour – drive to Virginia. Our motivation for these challenges to our minds, bodies – and bank accounts – was the opportunity to spend quality time with our sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren. Would we repeat this again? In a heartbeat…absolutely!
On day three in Virginia, I succumbed to pressure from two granddaughters, Naomi, age five and Noelle, age seven, to allow them to apply rouge on my cheeks, bright red lipstick on my lips and green and blue (with a streak of yellow) hair color on my mustache and hair, all with their promise that it would easily wash off. They giggled uncontrollably at their artistic “creation” and I’m not ashamed to say that I loved every precious second of it.
Now although all six of my grandkids have uniquely different personalities, each deserving individual attention, I decided to write about Aria, the youngest, tiniest and arguably the noisiest of the bunch.
You see, when it comes to my little Aria, she either wants me to pick her up or put her down, depending on the circumstances, competitors for her undivided attention, and at the same whim. Either way, I’m happy to oblige.
Little Aria is apt to launch a full-scale assault on my hapless mustache. My cap or hat are both fair game. And once she dispatches them with a whack or toy upside my head, my eyeglasses are off to a corner of the room, or underneath a couch that often leaves the near-sighted me fumbling around the room like the sight challenged Mr. Magoo of lore. Understand that those eyeglasses are also desperately needed for stepping through toys strewn throughout the floor or avoiding plastic objects protruding up between pillows on the couch enroute to my, should I say, unexpecting rear end.
At the dinner table, Aria makes it clear that what’s on her plate is hers, but what’s on mine is hers and community property. More than once when my attention was diverted elsewhere, a biscuit or slice of bacon mysteriously disappeared from my plate.
When Aria can’t get her way with mommy or daddy – and much to the chagrin of either one, she finds solace in the lap of her weak-kneed grandpa. When she wraps those little arms around my neck while on my lap with her head shaking parents looking on, I hope and pray that she never lets go. Again, I remind you that she’s less than two years old.
Now although it’s relatively easy for me to ease off the couch to play and watch TV with her on the floor, my persistent lower back pain will scream “not so fast” when I attempt to crawl back up. And meanwhile, Aria watches my spectacle with a laugh or squeal that’s heart-warming and reverberates around the room.
And courageous? Oh my, is she a bundle of courage. Her daddy has had to restrain her from crawling up to the kitchen sink, chasing squirrels in the park and charging with outstretched arms towards a clown at a local outdoor festival.
Now to bring this to close, years ago I was a point guard, admittedly a mediocre one with absolutely no chance to play in the NBA, on my high school basketball team with unspoken instructions not to turn the ball over or shoot but hand off the ball to more skilled teammates. That’s exactly what I did.
But now, years later, I’ve used those handoff skills to hand off baby Aria’s soiled diapers to either her mommy or daddy, whichever one happens to be nearby. So in the end, and speaking of handing things off, I’ll hand this Happy “Grandpa’s Day” narrative and opportunity off to the millions of grandfathers as a gift that keeps on giving….your precious granddaughters.
Trust me, it doesn’t get any better than that!
Terry Howard is an award-winning writer, a contributing writer with the Chattanooga News Chronicle, The American Diversity Report, The Douglas County Sentinel, Blackmarket.com, recipient of the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Leadership Award, and third place winner of the Georgia Press Award.
