Remembering Grandpa, from a newbie’s perspective

JIM CRAIG

June 05, 2008 at 3:17PM AKST

My son went and had a couple kids. Guess that makes me a grandpa.

Darn it, I’ve been resisting that label for the longest time. Grandpas are old and smell funny. They sit in a rocking chair, smoke unfiltered Camel cigarettes and weep openly at “Leave It To Beaver” TV shows.

At least that’s what mine did. The only grandpa I remember was an old man before his time. He had a stroke in his early 60s and came to live with us when I was 11.

He was a nice old guy as I recall. He didn’t say much and he didn’t complain when I changed the channel to watch “American Bandstand” after school. I brought him his meals on a TV table when his legs couldn’t make the trip downstairs.

I remember those afternoons sometimes when I’m playing with my own grandchildren.

I wonder what they’ll remember about me.

“Poppa?” A little voice interrupted my daydream. A 4-year-old and his little blond head leaned against my knee and looked up at me.

“Yes sir, Mister Carter? What can I do for you?”

“Chase me,” he ordered with a twinkle in his eye.

“Chase you? Again? We just played tag all over the house for the last 20 minutes. Let an old man rest, won’cha?”

“Drink some more of your magic juice,” he suggested helpfully, pointing to where my coffee cup sat next to a chocolate chip cookie.  

“What will that do?”

“It’ll make you want to chase me.”

Hard to argue with that logic. He grabbed my cookie and took a huge bite.

“Hey, that was mine.”

“Poppa, you need to learn to share,” he mumbled through a mouth full of chocolate goo.

That was a good point actually, but whose idea was it to send this little whippersnapper to preschool anyhow? He’s just going to learn new and more clever ways to manipulate us.

“Poppa, poppa?” The dearest sound I’ve heard in years lilted across the room from Carter’s little sister. She was standing barefoot on the couch, wearing nothing but a Pull Up and a pink cowboy hat. Curly blond locks surrounded the sweetest blue eyes that ever melted a heart.

“Yes, ma’am?” I am nothing if not attentive to smiling blue-eyed blonds.

“Luh boo,” she tittered with a grin.

“Aw, sweetie, I luh boo you too.”

“C’mon, poppa, chase me.”

A youngster destined to be commander of the universe was not to be denied. How could a 4-year-old possibly understand the recuperative powers of caffeine? I’ll never know, but I dutifully took a swig.

“Where’s my cookie,” I rumbled with a malevolent growl. The shrieking and giggling Carter dashed through the kitchen and into the dining room with a lumbering, gray-bearded buffoon snarling at his heels.

From all this I have learned one thing. One enormous truth that could be engraved on a mountainside somewhere for all to see.

Being a grandpa is the coolest.

Jim Craig flies air taxi and scenic flights from the Seward airport for Scenic Mountain Air between April and October. His new novel, “North To Disaster,” is available locally or at www.bushakpress.com.