Not that I’m really needy and whiny and crave the attention of tiny young people who are blissfully unaware of all my flaws, but it’s worth noting that today is Grandparents Day across the United States.
 
While parents double-dip with Mother’s Day in May and Father’s Day in June and then Parents’ Day in July, there’s only one day in the year for Grandparents, and it must be shared by both Gramps and Grammy. (Actually, I think I saw a National GILF day during my research, but this is a family blog and we’re not going there.)
 
Being a grandparent is one of the great joys in life, because it combines all the fun of having children with zero responsibility. Take them to the zoo, gorge them on cotton candy, buy them a puppy and then drop them off when they get cranky. If mom objects, remind her of that video with her singing on the toilet while she pooped.
 
(Disclaimer: I am supposed to note here that I do not actually have any videos of my daughters singing while they pooped. I do, however, have several that are even better.)
 
As grandparents go, I would describe myself as ridiculously greedy. I love spending time with the children and I make sure to file my requisition forms at least once a week. And why not? There are a ton of things that make grandchildren far, far superior to all other forms of people:

1. Baggage. They don’t bring any. Kids show up ready to play, to learn, and to have fun. They don’t walk in with a sneer or a pout or a question about why you didn’t do something you didn’t know you were supposed to do or something you knew and forgot about, or whatever. This alone makes them superhuman.
2. Curiosity. They’re interested in everything. They have questions about everything. And when you answer those questions, they actually pay attention. You know that story about the kids who get a million toys for their birthdays and then end up playing with the boxes? That’s because they’re curious about everything. They haven’t narrowed their vision like adults, which is why there is nothing more refreshing than seeing the world the way your grandchildren see it.
3. Real-time Development. The most amazing thing I have ever seen is a baby’s brain developing in real time. We were sitting for one of our granddaughters and she had just learned to sit on her own, although she would still tip over from time to time. One day, she reached for a ball while sitting, nearly toppled over, righted herself and began staring at the ball. She wobbled back and forth, working to regain and then retain her balance, until she was able to reach the ball without falling over. Miraculously, I got to witness it as she advanced in thought, physical dexterity, experimentation and hand-eye coordination. Encountering the children each week is like watching a time-lapse series of photos. Last week he put two words together, today he combined a noun, verb and object, and a week after that he’s arguing about his bedtime. Incredible.
4. Two-arm hugs. Adults are always hugging with just one arm, often while we’re balancing our phone or a cup of coffee, or both, with our free hand. When your grandkids hug you, it’s a real hug with both arms, and you hug them back like you never want to let go.
5. Smarts. Babies boot up from zero on the day they’re born, and they’re much smarter than they’ll ever be as adults. It’s not obvious because they don’t have language skills, yet, but trust me on this one. Their capacity for learning new things, connecting the dots, figuring out how to manipulate both objects and parents…it’s truly impressive. They see it all, absorb it all, and they’ll remember a stunning amount of stuff from a time when they literally could not put things into words.  
6. Joy. Grandkids remind us what joy used to look like, before there were bills and appointments and internet trolls and the daily grind of life. If we’re lucky, they’ll take us along on the journey into living now, having fun, thinking of new things, enjoying a storybook for the tenth time in an hour, mastering a new skill, looking out the window… They can have fun with everything as they remind us that we once did the same, and that we could do it all over again if we choose to do so.
7. Immortality. Well, not really, but grandchildren connect us to a future beyond ourselves and beyond our own children, a future we can help shape for the better by setting the right examples and building the right kind of relationships with our newest descendants. We’ll visit this topic again in one of the winter posts, because it is a truly transformative connection.
8. Admiration. Every so often, you get an easy win, and grandkids are happy to oblige. No matter what else happened in your day, your week, or your life, they think you’re smart and funny and they want to spend time with you. Granted, they’re comparing you against a small sample, but a win is a win. 

 
It’s important to reciprocate, of course. As a grandfather, I want my grandchildren to know there is always a person who is happy to see them, happy to play with them, happy to teach, happy to listen, and always, always, rooting for them. That’s not a tough investment on my part, and the returns are huge.
 
I know there will come a time when they're too cool for me, too engaged with their friends or their start-up businesses or their viral videos or whatever. Right now, though, we're still in the magic zone and it's time for me to fill out my requisition forms for next week’s visits.
 
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​I used to think I was learning something when I found out how old a person is, but it turns out I was looking at the wrong end of the timeline.
 
Someone’s current age will reveal something about their health or whether they'll respond to a text with "LOL" or an emoji, but the real insight comes from considering the world of their births.
 
When Abraham Lincoln was born, Thomas Jefferson was president and Kentucky was the nation’s frontier. When Ronald Reagan was born, marijuana was legal under federal law, but banned in California, and the first radio station was nine years from launch. When Oprah Winfrey was born, she was legally prohibited from attending school with whites in her home state. These and other situations provided the backdrop for what they would read, whom they would meet, how they would perceive their communities and how they would live as adults.  

In a way, we have several birth years, each related to a particular type of maturity. What year was it when we first became aware of world events? What was happening in the economy when we started to earn a living, or save for retirement? What were the parenting trends when we had children, or when our parents had us? The stories of our lives are written against a backdrop of social, political, and economic events that etch their own imprint into our worldviews.
 
I was born five weeks before Ethel and Julius Rosenberg were executed for providing nuclear secrets to the Soviet Union and 11 months before Wisconsin Senator Joe McCarthy opened his infamous hearings into Communists in our government. We held air raid drills at school, standing in front of our lockers to shield ourselves from the nuclear bombs the Soviets might drop on us. I am, in many ways, a product of the Cold War, and I have no doubt that my parents’ approach to childrearing reflected their own experiences with the Depression, World War II and the Red Scare.
 
I joined the workforce in the 1970s, when inflation was high, stock prices were low, and oil prices were skyrocketing. Those patterns have influenced my approach to our finances for more than 40 years. If I had begun working five years earlier, or five years later, my perceptions and discipline would be much different today. 
 
Usually, we discuss age groups in wide swaths, like 18-34 or 40-65, but this generic approach hides a ton of detail that would help us understand each other better. Even our preoccupation with “generations” (Boomer, X, Y, Millennial, Zombie, Codger) mixes too many variables when it comes to understanding any specific person. 
 
Clearly, we don’t learn much when we ask someone how old they are now. The more relevant question is, “How old were you when….?” 


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I know a number of people who never want to be early for anything, and they drive me crazy. (Okay, it’s more a putt than a drive, but it pushes my buttons either way.)
 
The people I am talking about—and they know who they are—seem to view punctuality as a power struggle. They believe the person who arrives first has the most free time and, therefore, is least important. The person who is last to arrive finds everyone else waiting for him, which means HE is the most important. Everyone else has lost status while he was texting in the driveway.
 
This is actually a cultural protocol in some nations, especially in business meetings, so I see the point about status, but I’m happy to give the power to whomever needs it most. If someone feels special because I am waiting for them, that’s my no-cost gift to their egos. If they get off on the idea that I’m anxiously longing for their arrival, I’m happy to bring joy to their (terribly insecure) lives.
 
My own view of time is not quite so hierarchical, and I find it very helpful to arrive early.

When I get somewhere ahead of schedule, I can stop in at the men’s room to see if I’m having a bad hair day or if I’m suffering from booger droop. I can check my notes to remind myself why I am here, or I can find out whether Beyonce liked my like on Insta. If it’s a social event, I get to spend more time with friends, shoveling, um, wisdom on them from the moment the bar opens until they’re stacking the chairs.

Mostly, I like being early because it lets me finish early, which I think of as highly efficient and productive. If we can start 15 minutes ahead of schedule, we can finish early, as well, and I can free up more time to watch Jeopardy!. (I feel so much smarter now that James is gone.)

Yes, there are those unfortunate days when I arrive a half hour early and my interlocutor is 20 minutes late and I run out of posts to like or BREAKING NEWS!!! from CNN. By the time the meeting begins, I’m feeling like a real putz for cooling my heels for almost an hour, and I have no doubt that the person I am meeting feels the same way about me.

Of course, if I was really worried about other people’s disapproval, I’d never venture out of the apartment and I’d hide in the closet when the Grub Hub guy shows up with my donuts. But I am braver than that, ready to put myself out there and risk being thought of as less important than the alpha in the room.
 
If I’m ever an hour early, though, I think I’ll just spend some time loitering in the men’s room. As regular readers know, that’s always a source of mirth.
 
Just to prove how important you are to the team at dadwrites, today’s post is being released one hour early. Yes, it has been waiting for you because you are the most important person in the universe. We never want to keep you waiting for our posts, so we hope you’ll subscribe here to receive our missives without ever needing to wait.

Maybe they don’t mean it that way, or perhaps they do, but there are some statements that I hear repeatedly and they just rub me the wrong way. If you were writing a blog, you could be whining about this stuff, too…
 

1. People say, "Be careful," right after you needed to be careful.
2. People say "That's a great question" immediately before they don't answer it.
3. For some reason, I consider it fighting words when someone says, "Let me play devil's advocate." Usually, that statement means, "I'm about to dismiss your idea without offering anything valuable to replace it." 
4. When a person says, “I'll be frank,” doesn’t it make you wonder if they were lying to you previously?
5. By the time someone says, "To make a long story short," it's much too late.
6. I hate it when someone assures me that “nothing is etched in stone here,” because they always sound more uncertain than accommodating. 
7. When people say, “It’s not about the money,” it doesn’t mean it’s about the money. It means the money is a proxy for something else that’s even more important than money.
8. What the hell does it mean when somebody says, “I don’t disagree?” Do they agree, do they have no opinion, have they never given your idea any thought whatsoever, or did they blank out while you were talking and they have no idea what you said?

 
Time for some audience participation: what comments drive you up the wall or over the edge or around the bend? Add your faves to our comment section this week and we can all cringe together.
 
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When hand crafting is no longer a plus, initial thoughts on diseases, and a blabst from the pabst, brought to you this week from a clean desk and a very cluttered mind…

1. So many questions about life on this blog. It's like Sex and the City, but without the sex.
2. I developed a new line of artisanal water, but customers got turned off when I told them it was hand crafted.
3. I was tired of having the same old cheeseburgers, so I decided to skip lunch and make tacos for dinner. Ground beef, cheese, tomatoes, onions…what a great change of pace.
4. Tasting wine is like telling the doctor whether your pain is from 1-10. It all depends on your expectations, your ego, and how much little things bother you.
5. Who decided that every illness should be known by its initials? Erectile dysfunction is ED, reflux is GERD, and constipation caused by opioids is OIC. Meanwhile, why couldn’t they come up with more meaningful acronyms, like Flatulence At Regular Time Sequences or Zillions of Irritating Teenage Spots?
6. Speaking of initial impressions, did you notice that Pabst Blue Ribbon only became hip when they started calling it PBR?
7. The other night, I drove to a neighborhood restaurant and found a parking space right in front of the entrance. I walked up and down the street to look for signs that prohibited parking or required a fee. Then, I asked two people who worked in the restaurant to assure me I was safe to park there. Clearly, the Meter Maids are a terrorist organization.
8. It took a long time, but I have finally run out of patience with adults who don't have basic computer skills. Yeah, it was almost cute in 1989, but you've had more than 30 years to learn this stuff.

 
 
Of course, all the people reading this post are incredibly tech savvy 8G gurus who can program a computer and surf the web and click on this button to become subscribers. Right?

​
Dad would have been 95 today, and so...

My dad owned a small business, which meant he worked 12 days a week. Every so often, he’d take me downtown with him on a Saturday morning and I’d get to play with the T-squares and the copy machine and, best of all, the electric erasers.

One such morning, we’re walking past the library (now the Cultural Center) on the way to breakfast when a beggar comes up and asks for money for food. My dad declines to give him any cash, but he says we’re going for breakfast and the beggar is welcome to join us. And so, our party of three parks at the counter of a diner near the IC station under Michigan and Randolph.

The waitress takes a look at our guest and declines the opportunity to serve him, but my dad insists and notes that he is going to pay the bill for our new friend. Then, dad sits between me and the beggar and talks with the guy during breakfast. I have no recollection of the conversation, but the amazing part to me was that they had a conversation at all.

Dad was a patron of the art of panhandling, adjusting his largesse for the originality and personality of the donee. It was a good bet that the people who asked for money had made some big mistakes along the way, but it was an equally good bet that my dad, like almost all of us, could have made a comparably bad move that landed him on the street.

After we parted from our new friend, dad said he preferred to buy food instead of handing over cash, because the recipients might just buy booze if left to their own devices. Once, he said, the guy asking for money simply admitted he was a drunk and would spend it on hooch. Dad gave him extra points for honesty and financed his next round. 

(Modern note: Doesn’t it seem very patronizing and patriarchal for him to have forced his judgment on the beggars regarding how they spent their money? Wasn’t that a blatant assertion of colonial power, cultural appropriation and severely infantilizing? In hindsight, now that I am superduperly woke, I am mortified that he bought them food. What a privileged bastard he was.)

Fast forward to a family vacation in New York, when we’re walking with our daughters on 42nd Street near Grand Central Station and a man comes up to ask for some change and I decide to buy him a meal. It costs more than spare change, of course, but it does more good, even if I am paternalistically imposing my choices of nutrition on an otherwise sentient soul. After I make sure my new friend is served, I relate my childhood story to my daughters, and they remember.

Fast further forward, my girls are grown now, with children of their own, and I received a note from one of them about buying lunch for a beggar. Maybe, one day, their children will do the same.

​Some heirlooms are well worth passing down.


What story do you tell from your childhood, and what story do you want your kids to tell about you? Please share your memories in the comments section and subscribe if you haven’t done so already.