Sometimes a simple event transforms a person’s anxiety into elation. I’ve learned that I can be that transformer for my grandchildren. In our all-too-busy consumer culture, where life may at times feel like a task, I’ll parachute into my grandson’s life with no agenda, no timeline, and buckets of love. When that happens, it’s a beautiful two-way gift, where giving and receiving merge. Here’s such a day.
On Sunday, June 14, my grandson and I rode our bikes from his home to a nearby town for lunch. Before that, we’d spent the morning together with his dad, my son-in-law, at the local farmers market. My grandson wanted apricots and peaches. He was noticeably anxious — aren’t we all these days? My son-in-law explained he was worried about global climate change, his closed school, not playing daily with friends, social distancing, and sheltering in place at home for months with just him and his two parents. I felt so sorry for this charming young man taking on the burdens of the world while being so youthfully innocent and unprotected.
While he was standing in line at the apricot stand the person behind him moved up closer than 6 feet. My grandson stepped sideways out of the line trying to keep his social distance. The person behind him, perhaps oblivious, closed up the gap a bit more. My grandson looked distraught. He clearly did not feel OK saying to the adult, “I don’t feel comfortable. Please move back.” or something similar. He didn’t know what to do, so worried and vulnerable. I felt sad and sorry and protective.
Later, we headed out from his home on our bikes, excited about lunch on our favorite behind-the-restaurant outdoor patio. But the patio was closed, “Only Take-Out.” We tried the restaurant next door. Luckily their patio was open. Wearing face masks, we walked through the restaurant. My grandson chose a bench-like table where we could maintain our proper social distance. He ordered a salad with trout on top. I ordered a pork and cheese toasted sandwich. They were both delicious.
My grandson asked me several times whether I would like to share his trout — he is so kind, generous, and loving. As lunch progressed and we chatted about the restaurant and what was happening in his life now that school was over, he began noticeably relaxing.
It was indeed a beautiful day, just perfect for biking — not too hot, not too cold, clear sunny sky, and dedicated pedestrian and bike paths for most of the ride. As we left the little town, heading towards home, I could tell from the way he was riding his bike — swinging the front wheel from side to side and circling around on the road — that he was feeling happier, much happier.
We were soon back on the dedicated path. He exclaimed over and over what a beautiful day it was. We’d gone about a mile when he said, “Let’s walk Grandpa.” We leaned our bikes against a park bench and I followed him back about 100 yards along the almost deserted path. My grandson crossed over the ditch at the side of the path, stepped over a short fence, and entered what looked like a now dry seasonal wetland. He called back, “Grandpa, come on.” My grandson was ecstatic, his worries were somewhere else. He was in his element — nature.
He headed for a stand of eight-foot-high bulrushes, testing the sometimes boggy ground at each step and talking about the various plants, most of which he didn’t know by name. Neither did I, but we both agreed that his mom, my daughter, would know. I pretended that the 6-foot clumps of plants he was now standing in the middle of were poisonous, “One touch, and your dead in 30 minutes.” He knows his Grandpa is a fountain of silliness, and laughed. We both got a little goofy.
We stood next to the almost impenetrable stand of bulrushes towering over 8 feet. My grandson pointed to the many stages of bulrush seedpods, some green, some brown, some gray, some exploded, some withered to just a bare stick. He broke off three different kinds, handed me two withered and gray (how appropriate) small pods, and kept the 30” firm green-brown seed pod as a sword or jousting lance.
Back on our bicycles, for the next two miles, he joyously swung his new sword in circles over his head, challenging and cutting at any passing overhanging tree. Riding behind him, vicariously enjoying his youthful exuberance, I was renewed with life and my distant memories of innocence. My grandson is simply one of the most beautiful parts of my life. I am blessed.
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Have you also had inspiring experiences during this socially distanced and stressful time? I would really like to hear from you, and perhaps include your thoughts in future blogs. Please let me know. Thank you.
me, Barry Phegan
