My view is, the more grandchildren, the better. I have six with a seventh due in April. And I assume there are more to come. My daughter Grace just had her first child in February–a boy named Paul–and my son Freddy is only now finishing college at Auburn and isn’t married yet.
Grandchildren are one of God’s greatest gifts. But there’s more to having grandchildren–that is, being a grandparent–than simply keeping track of them, which is hard enough. There are rules to follow, and I’m afraid I’m not doing a very good job. Though my oldest grandchild, a beautiful girl named Grace, is 8, I’m still in the learning phase of grandparenthood.
The first rule is you don’t get to choose what your grandkids call you. You may want to be called “Gramps” or “Pops” but if they don’t like the name, you’ll be called something else.
My grandchildren couldn’t reach a consensus on what to call me. So my wife Barbara offered a suggestion: Bus, short for Buster. This was my nickname when I was an infant after my grandmother looked at me in a baby stroller and declared, “Buster.”
Of course about three people in the universe still call me that. My wife doesn’t. Even my sister calls me “Fred” these days. But my grandchildren instantly embraced the name. It’s simple and punchy. So I’m Bus.
The second rule is that a grandparent does not get to act like a parent. A grandparent has a different role. A parent is nice and loving but also tough. A grandparent is only nice and loving. A parent disciplines and is entitled to raise his voice with his children. A grandparent isn’t.
I learned this the hard way. When I spoke sharply (and loudly) to my grandson John, 6, he looked shocked. Who did I think I was? His parent? After this happened a second time, Barbara took me aside to explain my role. Raising my voice with grandchildren is not allowed, not ever.
For some grandparents, rule three may be a stretch. It’s this: Never forget that your grandchildren are smarter than you are. They know things you don’t. And it can be embarrassing when they display their superior knowledge in front of others.
Just the other day, John–the grandson I yelled at–recited the birthdays not only of his two siblings, Grace and Luke, 4, but also of his cousins and aunts and uncles. This is the kind of family information I am supposed to know, but don’t. All I could do was listen in shame as John delivered names and dates.
At age 5, another grandson, Troup, knows more about nature and small animals than I could ever hope to. He fearlessly picks up frogs and snakes and newts and salamanders, animals I’d rather not touch. Troup, by the way, is a family name that has come down from my mother’s father, Troup Miller, a West Pointer from Georgia.
It took me a while to notice the best example of how smart grandchildren are. They know exactly what is most precious to a grandparent and that’s what they want. It’s not money or a trip to the ice cream store or a new toy. It’s your time.
The older I get, the more I understand that time is the commodity I have the least of and thus value the most. My grandchildren discover this around age 2. Then they want to visit Barbara and me and stay overnight, alone. They want undivided attention, preferring we don’t spread our time among the other grandchildren. This may seem selfish. I find it endearing.
The final rule: A grandparent is expected to get on the floor and play with grandchildren. Barbara is great at this. I’m not. My son claims I spent my entire time as his parent sitting in a chair and reading a newspaper. Well, I like reading the paper.
We all know how different one’s own children can be. This is all the more true about grandchildren. In personality and wrestling style, Troup and his brother Will, 3, are anything but the same. And when my daughter Karen has her third child in April–it’s a boy–I don’t expect him to fit a family mold. There isn’t one.
One of life’s great rewards is to see your children, once grown, become close friends. Just as rewarding is watching your grandchildren bond, as mine have. This has happened despite my reluctance to get on the floor with them.
FRED BARNES
