How Much Does a 4-Year-Old Know?

Well, At Least My Grandson …

William Sundwick

He does love to talk! From the moment his dad dropped him off Friday afternoon, duffel bag stuffed with changes of clothes and toys, until we took him back home Sunday afternoon, it was nonstop conversation! (Except after 9:00 P.M. Friday and Saturday nights.)

Four-year-old Owen got to spend the weekend with his grandparents, while his parents celebrated their wedding anniversary on the Maryland Eastern Shore. It was a new experience for grandpa and grandma “G.G.” Baby sister Mira was farmed out to the other set of grandparents.

Speech in children develops in interesting ways. Owen has always been a talker (like his dad at that age?) and seems to have modeled both parents. His grammar, including tense, use of pronouns, gender and number, all fit proper contemporary adult speech patterns. This has been developing for a while. Owen now seems to have even mastered verbal punctuation: exclamation points, question marks, commas for independent phrases, are all apparent in his oral arguments.

Somehow, he has also learned unique speech mannerisms that I must say I’ve never heard in other children. He habitually introduces a statement when others are speaking, even when talking to him, saying “Excuse Me!”– whether interrupting or not. Statements of fact are often preceded by “Actually,” as though he is providing surprising new information to his listener. Still evident in his conversation is his favorite interrogative from toddlerhood, “why?” This is typically a stand-alone sentence, neither preceded nor followed by any context – it’s been his favorite signal that he wants to continue the conversation, at least since he was two. He is seeking explanation.

Lately, Owen has also exhibited awareness of pop culture. This goes beyond speech mannerisms into real shared experiences with his parents and friends at “school” (their accepted name for the licensed family daycare facility down the street where he’s been since infancy). Action and characters from the Lego Movie, and Star Wars, are an integral part of his world. Marvel comics are now creeping in as well.

Would a more formal pre-K program enrich him more? He won’t be entering Kindergarten until he is almost six, due to his November birthday. His parents have discussed pre-K, but apparently rejected it, so far. His dad and uncle both had formal pre-school at Owen’s age or earlier. But I must say his language skills haven’t suffered!

What does Owen learn from observation? Where do his interests take him? At four, nature is the biggest draw. He notices the earth, soil, rocks, bugs. He helps Mom with her vegetable garden. He notices trees in the woods as well as people’s yards. And animals! He loves not only reptiles and dinosaurs, but everybody’s pets (he doesn’t have one of his own) and his favorite books are about wild animals, sea life, and dinosaurs. Owen even expresses concern about climate change and fragile ecosystems. He wants to build habitats for animals to “rescue them” from climate change, and thinks that people build “too many factories,” in his words.

Is Owen at a pre-reading level? He can print his name, and knows the alphabet, but familiar story books are memorized, the words aren’t read – including those “chapter” books his parents are collecting for him. He fooled me the other day when he appeared to read word-for-word the text on a page of one of them. But, when I asked him to identify specific words in the line of text, he couldn’t. It was the illustration on the page, and the sequence, that he had memorized.

Videos seem to be the best way to teach him concepts – much of his apparently deep understanding of complex things appear to come from educational videos that he’s shown me online. Some of them are brilliantly produced for preschoolers. Nonfiction children’s books are also a favorite, like D-K picture books, or National Geographic. Much factual knowledge in his interest areas comes from such additions to his home library. His dad loved pictorial reference books when he was Owen’s age, too.

Owen, the builder
Christmas, 2019

Analytical skills, including math and physics, are not yet apparent, except in primordial form, with Owen. The best exercise for this right now is building with Legos. He can now follow the pictorial instructions for small Lego sets by himself – meaning he can identify the pieces shown in the instructions and recognize the patterns of how they fit together. Larger sets still require help from dad, who was an avid Lego builder himself, and remains so today! (I suspect It’s now a stress-reducer, especially as a shared activity with his son.) Owen, so far, seems to limit his math to counting, some simple addition and subtraction, and he is finally beginning to understand gravity and balance when he gets creative in his building projects. But symmetry is now both a mastered concept, and a word in his vocabulary! “See grandpa, I made it symmetrical!” He was correct!

Owen has always been a physical kid, he loves outdoor running, and indoor yoga. He understands the difference between indoor physicality and outdoor physicality. Although, I haven’t been apprised of any interest in team sports yet. Outdoors, whether the terrain is familiar or not, he senses the opportunity to run, not walk, when he sees a path before him. His daycare facility deploys a Cosmic Kids yoga curriculum, and Owen confidently shows us his expertise, including naming poses, the horse pose from the farm “adventure” or the banana pose from the Betsy the Banana video adventure. All adventures begin with the secret Cosmic Kids word: “Namaste.”

His body awareness goes back to toddler days. I believe his mom has always emphasized it (his dad, not so much, if memory serves). He seems to be aware now of some grooming concerns – not just potty routines. He insisted, unprompted, during his weekend with grandparents, that we clip his nails! He instructed grandpa how to give a manicure! He also seems to know when to use a band-aid, and for how long, when he has a scratch or cut on his finger. He can now bathe himself in the tub, although he says he hasn’t had any experience with a shower.

Perhaps the greatest measure of early childhood development, however, is social awareness. Here, Owen, as can be expected, places the heaviest emphasis on his parents. They are the most important people in his life, and it’s critical that he get along with them. He expresses this by obeying their rules, and sometimes by showing genuine concern for their feelings. He seems to sense when his father is anxious, fading into the background as warranted (at least when grandpa is nearby), and I suspect he is at least as considerate toward his mother – I’ve noticed him asking when mommy is coming back, which is more likely than asking when daddy is coming. On the other hand, when confronted by a complex engineering (building) problem, he wants his daddy. Owen seems to see his grandparents as fun, somewhat lax in the rules department, which he works to his advantage – but he’s still amenable to the overall dictum, “when you’re with grandpa and G.G., we make the rules!”

Moving down the hierarchy from parents, Owen’s baby sister Mira (18-months) is becoming a playmate these days. There are competition and territory issues when they both occupy the same space at home – Mira isn’t allowed to play with Owen’s toys – but, generally, they interact well when the activity can be supervised and shared. When we brought Owen home that Sunday, slightly before his parents returned from Maryland with Mira, the first thing Mira did when she arrived was run to Owen and give him a hug! She hadn’t seen him for a whole weekend!

The outer circle of Owen’s world includes friends from “school,” children of his parents’ friends, and fictitious characters from play scenarios. The latter are invariably divided between “good guys” and “bad guys” – each playing a role, usually a function of their identity (policeman, “space guy,” or generic bad guy). Some school friends seem to be influencers as well – there are a couple older (or bigger?) boys at the daycare center. But I learned that “Logan is a troublemaker” – why? “Because Miss Eymy said so.”  So much for influencers.

As Owen relates his social experiences to grandpa, I can’t help but wonder if any of it portends a primal morality – or is it merely reflecting conflict? I haven’t heard Owen say anything about “fairness.” He seems to have all his needs met – for now! Neither can I see him parroting any sense of injustice from his parents, either. They seem to have their needs met, too. What am I missing?

Puzzlemaster Owen: two 48-piece puzzles all by himself!

  

Crossing Imaginary Borders

Subtle Transition from Toddler to Preschooler

William Sundwick

He’s three now.

Birthdays are getting to be old hat for my grandson, who is learning to take them in stride. The calendar is still a fuzzy concept though. When asked at his party on Saturday, “when is your birthday, Owen?” his reply was “ummm.” I think he didn’t know or understand that it wasn’t until the following Monday, two days away. He knows about changing seasons:  it’s Fall because of the leaves changing color and falling to the ground, Winter comes next, when it’s “Colddd!” – but since we had an early snowfall a few days before, which melted, it must mean we already had Winter?

The idea of years is still unknown to Owen. Not long ago, during an excursion to the local elementary school playground, when Mom told him that the adjacent building would be his school when he gets to kindergarten, he explained to all of us later, “I’m going to kindergarten!” But, when? For several days, his favorite refrain was “I want to go to kindergarten.”

His answer on Saturday to the question, “how old are you, Owen?” was confident, unhesitating –

“Three!” That was, after all, the number stuck on top of his cake! If his grasp of the calendar is less than precise, his new comfort with himself as agent and actor is quite precise. He now always begins declarative sentences with “I want …”, “I did” or “I’m going to …” He no longer refers to himself in the third person, like he did last year, when declarative statements often began “Owen is …” or “Owen does …” The discovery of “I” is philosophically important.

Developmentally, there is a distinction between looking/hearing/moving and seeing/listening/deliberating. Owen did eagerly show off his very deliberate “exercises” to me on Thanksgiving, learned from his mother. I could duplicate only some of the stretching myself! He is clearly more agile at three than his grandpa is at 71.

He looks around trying to find what to do next but seems more attuned to revisiting the familiar (at our house, at least) than exploring the unfamiliar. Repetition of play behavior associated with us is the most likely trigger, either at our house or his.

Conversation is an art Owen is still developing. He hears what you say, and frequently parrots it back (including new words), but there is less evidence that he is listening and processing a response. He retains his favorite response to any statement, as he has for some time: “Why?” Retorts with this interrogative are what pass for conversation – and, it does have its charm. Mostly, however, we listen while he talks.

According to his dad, Owen is also showing signs of another aspect of Self – he is beginning to lie! He apparently can code what statement or which answer is most likely to get him what he wants and supplies those words. Regardless of whether they are objectively true, even to Owen.  I encountered an example when babysitting at his house the day after his party. “I have to go potty!” said O., “Okay, do you want to use the big potty or the little one?” (i.e., the regular toilet or the portable “Lil’ Loo” toddler training potty in his room). His choice, ”the little one”.  We go upstairs to his room, “all done!” “Okay, let’s go in the bathroom and wash your hands,” moving next door expecting him to follow, his answer, “Daddy says I don’t have to wash my hands when I use the little potty” – “Oh?” seemed reasonable only for a preschooler who knew he didn’t soil his hands anyway, and didn’t understand the need to take more time from play. Dad confirmed later, it was a lie! 

Owen relates to others as you might expect. Most people in his life are there to pay attention to him and serve him. The only noteworthy exception is his baby sister Mira, now three months old. She doesn’t seem to owe him anything. Perhaps she’s still enough of a novelty to be entertaining for Owen. But everybody else must respond to his commands, “Watch me!” or “Play with me!” Oddly, one of the hallmarks of his toddler assertiveness, “Me do it!” has given way to “You do it …” – is it laziness? Or, more likely, impatience with skills already mastered? He will watch, to see if he can learn more, especially small motor tasks, like operating a screwdriver, but is less likely now to have the patience to perform a task himself. Sometimes, he almost takes pride in saying “I broke it!” so that he can then demand, “Fix it, grampa!”

Play-acting has remained one of his favorite activities for some time. He will be a monster, a dinosaur, a bear, or a pet. Something that can roar or make animal sounds. Often, he plays the role of a worker “man” (fill in the job, followed by “-man”). Having a job seems to be rewarding for him.

Whether animal or worker, he’s usually aware that he is play acting. He doesn’t really believe he is that character. Even when playing with toys, or building with blocks, he frequently slips into the play-acting mode (he’s a monster and smashes the house he’s made with blocks, or a “package man” who drives a toy truck to the opposite side of the room to make a “delivery”). Indeed, play-acting seems to capture his imagination more than engineering. When he builds with Duplo blocks, his buildings

often have no doors or windows, but are simply enclosures for a toy vehicle (a “garage”), or are towers, whose only purpose is to be as high as possible before tumbling down. Although, he does seem to be aware of the need for “stabilizers” on structures made with blocks, it seems awareness of physics is primordial at best.

Owen’s new favorite word, potentially a replacement for the interrogative, “why?”, is “actually.” The meaning of this preface has clearly been learned from adults (his parents?), and in O’s case it is not intended as a statement of fact. Instead, it denotes rebuttal, or change of mind. Much as “why?” is intended as a conversation starter, “actually” at the opening of a statement is intended as an assertion. Owen is declaring, “now it’s my turn!” So, every sentence begins this way.

Do all these observations of my grandson indicate anything more than that he’s growing up? Probably not, but his new mad skills appear to position him advantageously for entering the pre-school of his choice, any time his parents deem it appropriate. Owen’s mother, however, is a professional early childhood development specialist. And, his father is a highly analytical team-building media professional. The family day care center three doors down their street has been Owen’s comfortable

second home since he was an infant. His parents feel that “Miss Eymy” continues to run a supportive, nurturing, and educational environment for her charges – and, now she can accommodate little Mira, too! Not likely they could find a better setup in the short term. So, at least for another year, the day care arrangement will remain unchanged. It is already Owen’s “school.” He has always called it that, as have his parents. Miss Eymy even regaled him with chocolate cupcake on Monday, for a second birthday party!

Although his dad and uncle were both enrolled by age three in more formal pre-schools, we are but one set of grandparents. This grandfather is willing to grant Owen’s parents more good parenting sense than we ever had. Owen will be fine in his fourth year!

“Pollen Comes from Trees”

How Language Transformed The “Terrible Twos”

William Sundwick

Language is power. It both requires a certain level of cognitive development and enables further cognitive development. The last entry in Warp & Woof that described my grandson was entitled “Glimpsing the Terrible Twos.” Seven months later, at two-and-a-half, little Owen has transformed himself from a willful ego monster, obsessed only with his own agency, into a congenial raconteur who is aware of his new-found knowledge of the world, and desires to share it with others. He’s a “big boy” … and, he knows it.

The first indication of the language explosion came for us two weeks ago, when his grandmother and I were regaled with his order for dinner. He likes hard boiled eggs but enjoys separating the yolk from the white before popping either into his mouth. He pointed to each part before doing this: “that’s yolk” – and, amazingly, “that’s albumin” – what!? I believe he taught grandpa a new word!

Last week, we watched him one morning when his home day care facility was closed. It was a beautiful Spring day. We went into our backyard to play. He noticed the white azalea bushes in full bloom – “flowers, it’s Spring,” and further elaboration, “it’s May.” He knows his months! (He wasn’t so sure of the day of the week, though.) Then, as he noticed the detritus from our large tulip poplar shade tree covering the patio, another nature observation, “pollen comes from trees.” He then abandoned his dirt digging project with toy dump truck and trowel and asked Grandpa to hoist him high enough to pick an unopened tulip bud from the tree, “can I get a flower?” he pointed to a low-hanging branch. He was fascinated by peeling off each petal until he got to the stem of the blossom. A future botanist in the family, it would appear.

Not only has he learned fascinating nature facts, but he knows how to apply them to his immediate sensory experiences. And, he can construct a meaningful sentence to describe the experience. It’s a sentence with subject, verb, preposition, and object: “pollen comes from trees.” This is cognitive advancement well beyond where he was seven months ago.

He is very polite. He has a pleasing habit of asking permission to “touch” and “see” things. Regarding our covered gas grill, “Is it hot?”

“No, we cover it when we don’t use it.”

“Can I touch it?”

“Sure.” When he reaches out tentatively to touch the burka-like grill cover, he jumps back, dramatically play-acting, and makes a sizzling sound between his teeth. He’s teasing us!

Potty training progresses nicely. “I have to poop” he declares – then demonstrates in the bathroom that he needs no assistance pulling down his pants and briefs and sitting on the “Lil’ Loo.” He asks for “privacy.” Before flushing (which requires intervention), he wants to count his feces in the potty. “One, two, three, four … no, one, two” -- some interpretation issues here, both answers could be considered correct. Further intervention is needed for him to reach the water in our bathroom sink for washing his hands (in his house, they have an extension for the faucet, so he can reach from a step stool without assistance). But, he has mastered the procedure.

His mind is still so uncluttered. He seems to have given up asking “why?” as a response to everything you tell him that is factual. Now, he appears to absorb it – even after one take. For instance, he asked about the air vent and door to the crawl space under our kitchen addition. I explained what they were. And, no, we don’t go into the crawl space because it’s dark and dirty (and, added grandma GiGi, there are chipmunks in there!). This was related only once. He did not respond, until fully two hours later, when his mom came to get him, and he eagerly told her everything that we said about the dark, dirty “crawl space” (his words now) with “chipmunks in there.”

It had been a few weeks since Owen had visited us at our house. Yet, despite his very busy life, he immediately slipped into the same routine he followed last time he was here. Digging dirt from the backyard foundation beds, denuded of ground-cover, putting it in the toy dump truck, then dumping it a few feet away. This was his routine – surely not duplicated anywhere else. He associates it with “Grampa” and “GiGi’s” backyard. (I have been officially renamed over the last seven months, from “Poppa” to “Grampa.” Grandma Gail has retained her cutesy nickname, however.)

To the best of my knowledge, O has not been exposed by his parents to any scripted drama -- animated, or otherwise. Yet, he has a dramatic imagination from somewhere (books, perhaps?). Some of it may come from his life. He was reenacting a scene, probably from day care, where two toy cars on the window sill were fighting for position in line, “I was there first” says the ambulance, “no, me!” says the crane. Or, siren sounds, as the ambulance speeds across the floor, “somebody sick, need to go to hospital,” he shrieks. 

Sometimes, he exhibits his instant retention skills, like making a reasonable facsimile of grandpa’s helicopter sound with tongue, lips and teeth – after hearing it only once. (We did hear a real helicopter outside earlier.) And, sometimes he plays the role of machine, like using his outstretched hand to receive a load of dirt from the trowel in the other hand, then rotating the receiving arm to the dump truck, and dumping the dirt – “I’m a crane.” “Diggers” have always been any heavy equipment like a front loader, backhoe, or excavator, since his earliest vocabulary days. Now, when he uses the garden trowel to dig in the beds, he acknowledges he is a “digger man.”

Among the things he absorbs are values. We had a conversation about sharing, after seeing the little play with the two cars fighting for a place in line. It seems that one of the cars was “Austin” (another two-and-a-half-year-old at his daycare), but not him. Because “Owen’s a big boy.”

He apparently had a satisfying experience that day at grandpa and GiGi’s house. His mom texted us later in the afternoon that he napped for three hours, she had to wake him up! And, we didn’t do anything to tire him out, either.

Glimpsing the Terrible Twos

Sole Custody of a 22-month-Old for a Weekend

William Sundwick

Friday

Friday was dedicated to preparation for an awesome responsibility. We paternal grandparents were about to move into our Son and Daughter-in-law’s house for an entire weekend. Sure, we could make excursions to our house (only 15 minutes away) on both Saturday and Sunday, but we felt, and were advised by the parents of our only grandchild, that it would probably be best if he slept in his own room, and we were nearby. This is not the first time that 22-month-old Owen has been left for multiple days in the care of grandparents – but the first time it was the OTHER set of grandparents, and he was much younger.

He is now approaching “the terrible twos.” He has cognitive skills which translate into manipulative behavior. He has language (sort of). He doesn’t like being crossed.

Pickup from day care Friday went smoothly – a familiar routine for grandpa. But, this time would be different, and we did not know how much he understood about where “Mama” and “Dada” were for the weekend, or when they would return. Owen greeted his “Poppa” enthusiastically, as usual, introduced me to his “teachers” and his friend “Fisher” (yes, they have names!) -- but, I noticed something different. Instead of sauntering down the path to the gate, and confidently walking to the street, and home, with only a hand from Poppa to keep him close to the curb (no sidewalks in the neighborhood), he wanted to be carried all the way home -- 4 doors down. “Up,” he said soon as we reached the gate. I suggested he walk, let him down, but his outstretched arms signified his preference was otherwise.

Excitement again overcame anxiety when grandma “GiGi” arrived at Owen’s house (Grandma Gail -- she invented the name to distinguish herself from Grandma Cathy, who later chose the appellation “Lolly” for reasons unknown to us). He immediately sensed it was time to party. From experience, he knows that he’s allowed to shriek wildly when GiGi and Poppa are on watch –  an outdoor voice used indoors -- verboten by his parents, we think.

Dad had meticulously prepped us with alarms on our phones, both set for 6:45 P.M., with the authorized “twinkle” ring tone. This, in their Skinnerian world, was supposed to signal wind-down time – presumably post-dinner, pre-bath. The alarms went off, the pleasant ring tone sounding very baby-like. Owen was still relaxing over his Tortellini dinner (not scarfing it down, but not rejecting it either). All three of us sensed that bedtime was going to be later than the mutually agreed 7:15. He still needed a bath. But, this is OUR watch – so much to share, so many books and toys. So much to talk about. Owen now must name everything around him. Names for everything – it’s his enforcement of world order. It’s been months in the making. All those times he asked me, “Dat?” have now been assigned names. I’m sure most come from his parents – so, now he must share, with Poppa and GiGi, everything he knows.

And, the books. “Two stories, then to bed” his dad had said – hah! Owen has a well-stocked library in his room, and another in the living room. So many books. The Library of Congress would be envious. (Is it genetic? Both GiGi and Poppa have been lifers at LoC, and his mom is a childhood development specialist, Assistant Principal at a Pre-K through K charter school in DC. His dad has staked out a career in the mainstream media.)

We knew we would be honest about Owen’s real bedtime, but it certainly wasn’t going to fall inside the parameters of his parents’ decree.

And, it didn’t – about 8:15. But, he did sleep through the night. Friday.

Saturday

Saturday started out well – if early for Poppa and GiGi, around 6:30.  O. was in great spirits, though. He invaded the supposedly forbidden office, where we were sleeping on a double futon – and proceeded to take notice of his dad’s prodigious collection of Lego models (don’t touch!). We could tell he’d done this before, despite claims to the contrary from his father. He had names for all the exotic spacecraft (“airpanes”) and even the Main Street commercial diorama (“house”). When he grabbed the double-decker London bus from the desk, we knew he wouldn’t destroy it. He loves his father’s Legos. He carried it around with him most of the morning. He treated it with much more respect than the stuffed Elmo doll he found at our house on Sunday.  More on that later.

The main problem with Saturday was we just couldn’t squeeze in the physical activity prescribed for him (a playground?) – what with meals, transportation back to our house (a requirement for us), and need to schedule naptime. All we managed was a walk around our neighborhood with the stroller – some exercise for Poppa and GiGi, but none for Owen. Frankly, the sand covering the toddler portion of our neighborhood playground was a disincentive as well. We couldn’t help but think of bath time.

Result: no nap. It wasn’t for want of trying. In fact, we spent two hours reading, coaxing, cajoling – all to no avail. Just too much stuff to talk about, too much to share. At this point, we took notice that he wasn’t blue about missing his parents. Indeed, he explained to us that his parents had gone away, to see “Amy work” (his mom’s colleague from work whose wedding in Maine was the event that took them away for the weekend). We were impressed by his understanding – he may not be able to plan days ahead, but still seems to be aware of diurnal routines, and might even be able to count three nights without parents. I have evidence of him at least parroting the number “thee,” if not counting to three.

While reasonably adventurous about eating, being the offspring of two millennial foodie parents, he did show reluctance to try some of the food we had brought – notably cantaloupe and nectarines. But, we managed to hit a sweet spot with small pieces of grilled lemon-rosemary chicken breast (frozen from a previous Poppa/GiGi meal – excellent marinade and grilling technique, if I do say so myself!).

Sunday

This set of grandparents, at least, are not foodies. Sunday brunch at the local IHOP was the big event planned for the last day. But, first we had to deal with fitful wakefulness and coughing Saturday night, and a much too early arousal Sunday morning (before 6:00). The IHOP adventure was surprisingly successful – Owen enthusiastically downed most of an adult portion of French toast and fried egg.  Two pots of coffee were entirely consumed by Poppa and GiGi.

Back to our house again, both indoor and backyard play – somewhat more active than the previous day for O. Even indoors, he can run around our first-floor circuit – all open since we built on eight years ago, and greater circumference than the comparable circuit at his house.

Among his discoveries at our house Sunday was an old stuffed Elmo doll, left over from his Uncle Colin, 28 years ago. At first, Elmo seemed to fill its intended role as “lovie” – but, then Owen took to acting out a little drama with the doll. He would pick Elmo up, throw him onto the floor, and say “Oh No! [Elmo] Fall!”, then pick him up to comfort him – he did this repeatedly. Interesting exercise in culpability, if nothing else.

Elmo lives in a large plastic dump truck we keep for Owen in a closet.  After returning to his house for a nap, O observed and compared Elmo’s dump truck with his own similar Tonka model (an outdoor toy at his house, often filled with “dirt”), asking “where Elmo?”, and started to cry! As if that brief Kabuki performance at our house may have created an attachment of sorts.

Owen’s growing assertiveness, and familiarity with us, turned into open defiance by bedtime Sunday. Did he know this was his last chance to dominate, before Mama and Dada returned? As we were getting more confident about the rules we should enforce, it came time for going upstairs – bath, stories in his room, tuck him in. We knew the routine, and fully expected some resistance. What we saw Sunday night kicked it up a notch, though.

Owen completely understood what time it was (dinner done, those “twinkle” alarms clearly audible on both our phones). When Poppa stated firmly, “time to go upstairs, bath and stories, Owen!”, his response was equally firm. He climbed onto the living room sofa, grabbed a book from his living room library, and commanded, “Poppa read!”, as he opened the large picture book on his lap.  This was obvious contravention of Poppa’s dictate. He was not proceeding upstairs, or into Poppa’s arms. He was standing his ground.

The solution, we discovered, was to wait him out – don’t beg, don’t give in. Just ignore him for a few minutes. Go upstairs, yourself, prepare his bath, get his room ready for the usual post-bath routine. Don’t say anything to him. It worked after about five minutes (after all, if nobody came to read to him on the sofa, there was no fun!). As simple as this tactic seems, it was an important confidence-building exercise for Poppa. The young can teach the old.

Yes, bedtime was still an hour late, but if grandparents aren’t good for partying, what are they good for? When his parents returned home about 10:30, we breathed a sigh of relief. And, we confessed everything (much had already been revealed via texting over the weekend). Dad’s response was: “next time we do this at YOUR house!” It made sense – libertine grandparents like us should at least be restricted to their own home, not diluting parental authority in Owen’s home.

His mom chuckled – she knew that O would recover much faster than Poppa and GiGi! Poppa was home by 11:00, and rewarded himself with a strong Jim Beam nightcap – we were free.

The next day, GiGi received a text from her son: “Owen really missed you guys this morning!” – both of us could now imagine our grandson waking up crying, “Poppa, GiGi, where Poppa GiGi?” It would place us on a par with Elmo! Sweet revenge.

When It All Comes to an End

… Grandfatherly Affection for a Very Young Grandchild

William Sundwick

I’ve read much about the pros and cons of a late start raising a family. Often, these pieces are aimed at young women, with the best of intentions. There are good feminist reasons for delaying child birth, although not too long, for equally valid medical reasons. And, much research indicates that older parents are often better parents. But, what about dads? Are they also better dads if they are more mature, better established in their chosen profession? There is so much incentive to get more years of education, more secure financial position, better resume – all before becoming “tied down” to a family!

As a result, dads get old before they become grandfathers. 

And grandfathers, especially if they have raised their kids to also start late, can be very old! What may be gained by providing that steadier hand for their children, is offset when it comes to generational continuity as grandfather. I’m not saying that I should live to be a great grandfather, but it would be nice to see your grandchildren (at least one of them) grow into a man, graduate from college, meet a spouse --whatever.

Sigh. I have a 20-month old grandson. There may be more coming, maybe not. But, I know I’m not getting any younger -- despite the rejuvenating effect of babysitting a toddler. Actuarially, I’m not likely to make it very far into his adulthood. I’m 70 now.

 He will soon learn my name -- I hear attempts to say something approaching “appa,” but usually he gives up and just shouts “daa-daa” (even when his own dad is not present).

But, will he ever know me? Since we live in the same area, theoretically there is every chance that we can become very familiar. I am, so far, in pretty good health. No obvious infirmities, but that may change by the time he reaches a more impatient stage in his own development (adolescence).  Grandma seems more playful, less reserved, than Grandpa – perhaps Grandpa is intentionally withholding that playful side, for fear of it being unrequited?

What common experiences will we share? Right now, his world consists mostly of exploring his new-found autonomy and agency -- everything is new. He’s fascinated by all of it, but certain behaviors have longer-lasting appeal, it seems. He loves placing things in containers, and tries endless combinations of different things being placed in the same container. He also assiduously mimics kitchen behavior -- “cut, cut” with a plastic knife or fork is downright compulsive. It is always followed by “eat” or “food” o “hot” -- among his earliest words. Both parents are die-hard hipster foodies! His mother maintains a vegetable garden … and often works there with him. And, his other grandfather gave him a kitchen play set which has been sitting in the dining room since before he could stand at its mock sink and oven. Now he prepares full meals there – placing pots on burners (“hot”), offering plates of fake soft pillow fruits and vegetables to his guests (“eat”, “food”). 

Eventually, I must accept that grandpa will mostly be known by his legacy, not by shared experiences. When it all comes to an end, that legacy will hopefully be transmitted by his dad. His dad knows me, for sure. And, whatever family history is conveyed to my grandchildren, I trust my two sons will relay the appropriate mix of myth vs. reality.

How can I protect him from the future, after I’m gone? I’m convinced that things will get increasingly difficult during his lifetime. By the time he’s my age, much of the planet may well be uninhabitable. Even if apocalyptic climate change is somehow averted, there is still the ever-present danger of social collapse. Migration to another country may be necessary, to escape the inexorable drift toward civil war in the U.S. Then, what about other dangers -- disease, accidents, economic dislocation? I don’t want him to endure any of these afflictions. Can my legacy provide him security? Probably not, alas.

As I contemplate human history, however, I ask myself: isn’t this the universal condition of civilization? One generation passes its legacy to the next, nobody lives forever. That legacy is always a skillful blend of storytelling, part myth, part documented events. Teaching a younger generation “life’s lessons” has always been a dicey proposition, at best -- it makes more sense just to tell a good story!

My grandson doesn’t know any of this yet. He’s too busy finding things that fit inside other things, and mimicking kitchen behavior of his parents. But, he is learning at a phenomenal rate. So long as he is protected from disaster, we’ll tell ourselves, “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” And, his parents both believe they do know it -- all! -- a bonus for him. Their confidence is truly amazing. They are among the lucky few who may be right about that, too!

As for myself, Grandpa, I remain optimistic that my wisdom will be accepted, if offered in small doses. Perhaps it will even be sought at times. Grandparents are, indeed, helpful -- babysitting in a pinch, allowing them escape from the crushing burden of 24/7 toddler parenting duty; or, those errands run for overworked, ambitious parents. And, then, there’s that Virginia 529 college savings plan … 

Fingers crossed, my grandson and I are poised to explore many new things together -- for a while, at least. And, when it all comes to an end – there is that legacy!