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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​Writing a blog called Dad Writes, it’s natural for me to think about my own dad quite a bit. His approach to life shaped my journey and I learned a ton from his stories. Among them was a very old joke that he told me several times over the years, a joke whose meaning became much clearer as I matured.
 
Sign on a light pole:


LOST DOG

One leg missing. 

Right ear torn.
​
Blind in left eye. 

Tail doesn’t wag.

Answers to the name of Lucky.

Okay, not the best joke in the world, but I’ve come to think of it as very meaningful.

Like other dogs, Lucky doesn’t mope around with resentments for the damage life inflicted on him. He doesn’t plot revenge for the torn ear and the broken tail. He doesn’t look at us with soulful eyes that seem to plead, “Why me?” Instead, he takes each day as a new opportunity to have fun and sniff out whatever life has to offer.

"Eat the same food every day? Sure."

"Poop in the snow? No problem."

"Sleep in a crate? Sounds swell." 

"Stand still while other dogs smell your butt? Doesn’t everyone?"

After reconsidering my dad’s old joke, I’ve decided to live like a dog. I have a few scars and I’ve had parts removed and my psyche has suffered a few hundred slings and arrows, and every so often the weight of it all can wear on me. In spite of that, I want to wake up every day with a real gratitude for the life I have and the opportunity to have fun with whatever comes my way.

That doesn’t translate into treacly commentaries on the super-duper glee of mindless delight. Rather, it informs a philosophy of gratitude for what I have and confidence in my ability to deal with whatever comes next.

​Lucky is undoubtedly dead by now, but a big chunk of my life is committed to following his example, his worldview, and his willingness to sniff absolutely anything. As he could teach us, everything in life is interesting and fun, in its own way.

 
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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.
 
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​Ransoming our privacy, big words, and the illusion of knowledge, among other deep thoughts for this week…

1. If your solution can be explained on a bumper sticker, you don’t have a solution.
2. One of the misleading things about surfing the web is that I will see the same story with the same first sentence 20 times in a day. I end up thinking I’ve read 20 stories on the topic, but really I’ve just re-read the same lead paragraph. I’m much dumber than I’d like to believe.
3. There's nothing like the feeling of dread that comes when 500 spam messages hit your account at once and you realize someone close to you clicked on the wrong link somewhere.
4. I can’t wait to check out my photos on Facebook so I can see if I’m having a good time.
5. I’m really getting tired of all the organizations that insist I download their app so they can serve me better by selling my info to advertisers. This is like the start of the internet age, when everyone pleaded with me to make their website my home page. 
6. I can’t imagine I am alone in being willing to pay $50 or $100 or $500 per year to never see another pop-up on Facebook or to use an app without giving away every detail about my life and all my contacts.
7. Pay per click is the three-card Monte of the internet.
8. Using bigger words doesn't make you sound smarter. Simplistic isn’t simple, fulsome isn't full and grandiose is far from grand.

 
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​I spent a good portion of my life on the commuter train, juggling a cup of coffee and a donut and a broadsheet newspaper or two. When boredom set in, I’d play a game I almost always lost: Seat Selection Psychic.

Anyone can play a round of on the train, the bus, a fast-food restaurant…pretty much anywhere that seats aren’t assigned in advance. Somebody walks in and you try to anticipate where they will plant themselves for the duration of their visit. Aisle or window? Booth or table? Alone or next to someone? Same sex or opposite?

Per usual, this game said nothing about the people I was watching, because it was really a test of the assumptions I make when I first see someone. What’s their gender, race, age? How are they dressed? Are they carrying coffee or a briefcase or a grocery bag or a protest sign? We use all of these visual cues to get a sense of who the person is, whether they are friendly or cold or professional or unemployed or fugitives from another galaxy.

I know a few people who would be wizards at this game, but I am clearly a Muggle. Over a period of years, I don’t think I ever predicted the new rider’s destination accurately. Still, the exercise reminded me about the limited insights provided by first impressions.
 
People, like ogres, are like onions. It takes a while to peel back all the layers. Some people grow on you as you get to know them better, while others prove to be less human than they appeared at first. We like to pride ourselves on our ability to size people up quickly, but we’re off base much more often than we’d want to admit.

​It might be true that you never get a second chance to make a first impression, but we have many chances to make a good impression or, at least, a real one. Fairly often, I’ve found my first impressions to be just a trifle shallow and arrogant, only to be softened and better informed by subsequent encounters.  That experience has made me better at withholding judgment, which just might enable me to get better at life.

Maybe, just maybe, the relentless patter of nattering at dadwrites will grow on you and you’ll want to savor every noun and verb on a weekly basis. All you need to do is click here to become a subscriber; then just sit back and wait for us to dump new wisdom into your inbox.