On becoming ‘Pop-Pop,’ the best job ever

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When my first grandchild Charlotte was born just over a week ago, my simultaneous reactions were: “It’s about time,” and, “I’m not ready for this.”

As “firsts” go — first date, first kiss, first child, first anything — the first grandchild is on a new level of singularity and uniqueness. Not as special as a first child (what could be?), but, and this is hard to fathom, in some ways better.

I gotta admit: becoming a grandfather is hard to beat.

Of course, as I near my 60th birthday, being a grandparent is something I’ve ruminated about a lot, particularly in the months and weeks leading up to Charlotte’s arrival. Among other things, it got me thinking about my own connections with my grandparents, which really ran the gamut.

I never knew my maternal grandfather, who died about five years before I was born; my mom always told me I inherited his thick, wavy hair. I’m named after my paternal grandfather, a man I have many fond memories of. He introduced me to golf and the love of travel, and taught me about newspapering. I share a birthday with my paternal grandmother, who, on her deathbed, extracted a promise from 14-year-old me that I’d pursue a career in journalism. And my maternal grandmother, the woman whose husband died young, younger than I am now, passed away on the eve of my leaving for college.

Grandma Penny’s death, in August 1981, left my grief-stricken mother with a double whammy of loss: I said goodbye to my mom from the parking lot of the funeral home, driving away to start my freshman year at the very moment she was saying goodbye to her own mother.

Of the three grandparents I knew, I spent the most time with my paternal grandfather. I loved each of my grandparents, of course, but he’s the one I’d give anything to spend another hour with, partly in recompense for being dismissive during a few occasions when I should have been pestering him with questions about his own life. Then, even though I was aware of his incredible life and accomplishments, he seemed to be an old man who liked to talk about the past. Now I realize his age allowed him to accrue valuable experiences and wisdom — more wisdom to share than I was capable of receiving back then. As I said, I’d do anything to have an hour with him now to absorb what I refused to 35 years ago.

So now life’s inextricable flow has given me a granddaughter. And she’s made me a grandparent, and it’s a rare and wondrous chance to forge something special. “Pop-Pop” is the name I chose for my new role; Lee Ann, the new grandmother, is “Mimi.” Of course we’ll go by whatever Charlotte prefers, but I’m hoping she’ll cherish me and dig the name. I plan to do all in my power to earn her love and to just be there for her.

My love for her was instantaneous and profound. If you’re a grandparent, you know. If you’re not, it’s difficult to imagine, even if you’re already a parent.

Lee Ann and I had our first child (Zach, who’s Charlotte’s dad) when were 28 and 29, respectively. Zach will be 31 this year. Late bloomers, all. Many of our same-age contemporaries have multiple grandchildren, some of whom are in high school or college. The common refrain from our friends now, as Lee Ann and I share adorable photos of this gorgeous girl, is: “Didn’t we tell you how great this would be?”

Yes.

Could I imagine this depth of love for a child not my own? No. It’s in a different realm than your own children. Maybe it’s time, maturity, the thought of a legacy. I don’t know, and won’t try to explain. All I do know is that the very instant I walked into Sarah’s hospital room and caught a glimpse of the back of Charlotte’s head, I was transformed, transfixed, and, in a very positive way, transmogrified.

Our best friends in Kansas had their first grandchild, also a girl, named Mckenna, last month. We had commiserated with them for a long time, wondering whether “it” would happen — and here we are, suddenly, sharing a steady stream of pictures in a text thread and in Snapchat posts. As we plan an extended summer trip with them, we wonder: “How are we going to last 10 days without seeing Mckenna and Charlotte?”

I admit I was slightly perplexed at the number of “here’s a picture of me just staring at Mckenna” photos we got from our Kansas friends.

Now I get it. I’ve spent hours and hours holding Charlotte since she came home from the hospital, staring at her beautiful face and noticing how she’s changing from day to day. Lee Ann is busy, extremely so, with support chores for Charlotte and Sarah and Zach. She’s in her element as Mimi, taking on her dream role with abandon.

Me? I have the easy job of having Charlotte stare back at me, her blue eyes shining, exploring, curious.

Best job ever. I promise.