Opinion : The grandfatherly 'crown'

The baby was sitting on her grandfather’s lap, with Grandma sitting next to them. She sat there contentedly for a while, but then she looked down and saw that it was Grandma’s hand she was holding – not Grandpa’s.

“Uh-huh!” said the baby as she pushed away Grandma’s hand.

Grandma laughed.

Grandpa had one more story to tell.

Grandchildren, according to Proverbs, are a “crown” to guys like me.

I do not know enough about the history of ancient Israel to fully understand that metaphor.

My guess is that Solomon – a king himself – knew how much it meant to wear a crown. His crown was something that lots of people wanted, but few people had a chance to wear.

A crown is something you love to brag about – although people without crowns would probably quickly tire of hearing such boasting.

A crown is something you really can’t go out and get yourself. You need to have lots of luck – if not divine intervention – to get your own.

A crown has immeasurable worth and historical value.

A crown is a heavy burden to wear on your head; it means that what you do affects other people, especially those in whose clan you are the patriarch.

A crown means that people look up to you, and wish they had one of their own.

You know, of course, that the grandfather in the story above is me.

My granddaughter, Liana, turned a year old Nov. 4.

Her existence in my world is proof that life is not fair – sometimes you get a much better deal than you deserve.

Because of her parents’ jobs and location, and because of my flexible schedule and location, I have had the privilege of spending more time with Liana than anyone but her parents.

My experience with babies as a father gave me an insight into what the youngest among us think, and how they feel. (Some may say that my connection with babies is an indicator of my maturity. That, I would reply, is not very nice. True, perhaps, but not nice. Not at all.)

Sure – our 1-year-old Liana has a short attention span, does not like to sit still for very long, and is easily bored and distracted. And if you put food in front of her, she’s more likely to pay attention to the table than the talking.

Just like her grandpa, some would say.

To which Grandpa would reply, “So what?”

Advice for a new grandfather from a nearly new one

A year is not nearly long enough doing the work of a grandfather to start telling other people how to do it. I refuse, however, to let that stop me from doing just that.

There are men who have been wearing that Grandpa title for a half-century or longer. I hope one day to be one of them.

But for now, all I know is what I have learned from my experience.

People look at the way Liana interacts with me and say “Wow” or “How?”

To the first reaction, I say “Yeah I am really lucky.”

To the second, I would say:

Being loved by baby requires several things, most of which you already possess – or will, by the time your kids get around to making you a grandparent.

The first thing you have to have is time. Babies arrive in this crazy, unfamiliar world looking for two things: Comfort and security. I was lucky enough that within the first few weeks of my life as a grandfather to spend enough time with the baby so that my voice and my face became familiar to her. She was only a couple months old when people began to notice – and I realize here that I have already bored several people who have now moved on to read my review of the “Facebook” movie – that the baby noticed me.

“Did you see the way the baby moved when she saw you?” said a sister-in-law at Christmas.

“That baby is not taking her eyes off Grandpa,” said the lady at the store.

Once during this time, I was holding the baby and gave her to someone else. She began to cry, so the baby came back to Grandpa. As she settled back onto my shoulder, she turned her head and grunted at me, as if to say: “Dude. You know I belong here. Why’d ya go and try to give me to someone else?”

You will have to pardon her grammar; Liana is only 1.

A day or two later, the baby was sitting on my lap when an aunt walked up and held out her arms. The baby turned her head. “Uh-huh,” she said.

So while I’d love to brag and claim that the baby loves me because I am the coolest grandfather ever, the truth is she prefers to be with me mostly because she is with me so much. She has some amazing great-grandparents who spoil her like I do, but they live in Minnesota, and only get to see her every few months.

The next thing you need – according to my very unscientific analysis of children and adults – is something unique that the baby shares only with you.

For me, that is my songs.

I can’t sing. Not at all. Just ask anyone who knows me, or knows music.

But when I am with Liana, I sing songs that she hears from nobody else. I know this because they are songs I made up.

“You’ll find out fast

What you say you want

Grandpa will go out and buy it

But I’ll try to remember

What you see me do

It won’t be too long ‘til you try it”

There are some other songs I love to share with Liana. There’s an old song called “The Hand that Rocks the Cradle” and a beautiful lullaby song by Colin Raye called “April Fool,” which may be the only song in the world dedicated to a month on the calendar.

Those of you have never had the privilege of introducing a new baby to the world will be amazed and inspired by how quickly you see that little soul become familiar with your voice.

I say “soul” because I believe that the most mature part –again relying on my highly unscientific perspective – of a baby is her soul. I am convinced that my granddaughter, like other babies, can tell who is happy to be with her.

The journey

I’ve been watching, for the past year, other grandparents and grandchildren. I’ve seen both toddlers and college students sitting with their grandparents at church. I’ve cringed as I heard grandparents and grandparents both requesting prayer for someone who is sick. I’ve laughed as I saw other grandparents look as silly and proud as I feel, and I assume, but don’t mind that people probably see me that way, too. I watched a young girl sitting between her parents at her grandmother’s funeral, and even though I never met this girl, I cried with her.

Someday, I guess, Liana and I will experience most if not all of those things.

But today, all I know is that tomorrow I get to be with her for a few hours again, and that going three days without singing to her seems like a very long time.

A crown?

Nah.

Being a grandfather is way better than that.