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A grandpa? Like far out
By Skip Miller
Staff Writer
My daughter called with what she said was great news.
“You are going to be a grandfather,” she said.
Her response to my request for a recount was sending me the picture. Like that was irrefutable proof. Like I really needed to see it.
I'm not ready to be a grandfather. I view it as yet another reason to act grown up. Every August I have a Richie Havens moment to celebrate the anniversary of Woodstock. I mean, like, far out, man. Will I have to give that up and start playing Bingo?
There are things I haven't done yet, and I am not sure a grandfather should do them. I want to canoe the length of the Rappahannock. I want to call Emmylou Harris and ask her out. I want to go to the Florida Keys and fish for tarpon. I want to keep dreaming about scoring the winning touchdown.
I don't think grandfathers do those things.
Grandfathers have white hair and wander away when you're not looking. They go deaf when it's convenient, can hear a pin drop when it isn't. They don't argue; they ignore. And they fill their pockets with interesting things.
I've been wandering away for years. I don't pretend to go deaf, I'm halfway there. Too many sessions standing next to a 60-watt Sunn amplifier, I guess. A similar amplifier robbed The Who's Peter Townsend of his hearing.
The simple things you see are all complicated
I look pretty young but I'm just back-dated, yeah
Standing in line in a grocery store one day. Lady ahead of me was fidgeting. She looked at me and I heard her to say, “I'm going to get naked, want to watch?”
I did not know how to respond. I finally managed, “I don't think I heard you correctly.”
“I feel naked without my watch,” she said.
When I finally worked up the courage to tell her what I thought she said we shared a good laugh.
One day years ago my grandfather was sitting at the kitchen table. My oldest sister was washing dishes and humming.
“Connie, would you like to earn a quarter?” my grandfather asked.
“Sure. How?”
“QUIT THAT DAMNED HUMMING!”
Connie's shoulders were shaking. I thought she was crying. I worked around so I could see her face. She was laughing so hard she could just about stand up.
Now that's a grandfather classic. Set 'er up and pow! knock it out of the park.
I never did know how to argue, although I have tried on numerous occasions.
Arguments reach a completely irrational point that I find hilarious. You know, one can't take it anymore and calls the other an overstuffed windbag and it's game on.
Everything said after that is childish claptrap that makes great comedy.
And as for my pockets ... I don't even carry a wallet. I'll have to forgo the interesting stuff or find a different place to stash it.
Maybe I'm over-reacting and this whole thing doesn't mean being old, although I cannot remember a grandfather who wasn't.
Still, I've been trying to convince myself these are new times. Maybe it's OK to take a grandchild to an Eagles' concert. Maybe it's OK to buy the kid a tie-dyed T-shirt to wear every August, and to teach him how to say far out and cool and like wow, man.
Geez.
What do I do if it's a girl?
Worse yet, what do I do if it's a Right Said Fred fan who cheers for the Yankees?
I'm going to be a grandfather.
Is that way out there or what?
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