On a recent bike ride, I passed a man about my age, pulling a wagon with a small child in it. Although I had never met this man face-to-face, I recognized him as a member of my online writers’ critique group. I was tempted to ride up to him and introduce myself, but after some thought, decided not to. That’s because I was reasonably sure the child in the wagon was his grandson, and I didn’t want to interrupt the special time they were spending together.

Being a grandparent is special, a privilege that brings some rich rewards. For me, those rewards include, but are not limited to, the following:

• Watching my children as they cope with the same parenting issues I faced with them when they were young. As a general rule, I avoid offering them advice unless asked.
• Helping shape young lives in a positive way. That involves things as simple as reading them a story or taking them to a playground. But it can also involve taking them on an adventure that will open their eyes to the bigger world that surrounds them. The trip to Chicago featured in my previous blog was just such an adventure.
• Seeing those young lives take root and grow in their own unique ways. It is especially gratifying to see grandchildren develop skills and talents that neither I nor my children have. It already seems likely my oldest grandson Nikolai will be a better athlete than I or his mother ever were.
• Changing old games or coming up with new ones that are safe and that reduce the likelihood of fighting. Rotational ping pong and anything goes ping pong are two cases in point. (See my November 1, 2020 blog, “Ping Pong Variations Increase Family Fun.”) Just yesterday, I played “water rugby” with my seven-year-old grandson Alek. It was a simple enough game. The player on offense would attempt to score a “try” by carrying an inflated beach ball from his side of the pool to his opponent’s. The defender, using only the flats of his hands, would try to knock the ball free, recover it, and carry it in the opposite direction to score a “try” of his own.

These experiences are different from the ones I had with my own grandfather. George Washington Rowe, my mother’s father, was a generous, hard-working man who seemed to enjoy watching his grandchildren, but seldom “played” with us. As a child, I watched him fish in the ocean, and I believe he let me cast out his line a few times. Later, when I was a teenager, he took me to a driving range and showed me how to drive a golf ball. There were also some face-paced card games with him, my grandmother, and my Great Uncle John. But such interactions were the exception rather than the rule. Nevertheless, these experiences — few as they were — left me with some happy memories.

It’s fair to say I’m setting the stage for my grandchildren to have happy memories of me and my wife someday.* One thing I try to do whenever possible is have one-on-one time with them. That way they can have my full undivided attention and not have to compete with a cousin or sibling.  That’s the idea behind the trip for nine-year-olds (See my previous blog.) and the newly created water rugby.

I’m going to do my best to stay on this earth long enough to see each of my grandchildren graduate from high school. Perhaps I’ll even see some of them marry and have children. But whenever I bid farewell to this life, I want each of them to believe they had the best granddad in the world; one who loved them unconditionally, who gave them some valuable life lessons, and who relished every minute he spent with them.

*  My wife Becky deserves credit for planning, financing, and carrying out many of the activities that have brought me closer to my grandchildren. They have brought her closer to them, as well.