A Tale of Two Grandfathers Separated by Distance and Some Years in Time

Los Angeles is a very diverse city and home to many diverse interracial marriages.  When out grocery shopping, or in major public gatherings, such as a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, for me, interracial couples no longer register as unique, nor do they stand out, as racial diversity is just part of the overall environment.

Now whereas the couples themselves do not stand out, what still registers with me are grandparents, especially older grandparents – older than I am – when they are out with their grandchildren of mixed racial heritage.  The grandchildren – kids of every age – seen with their grandparents, or just one, especially on the weekends or during the summer school vacation – all seem just within the average range of personalities and moods. 

Some of the children are quiet, some look all around, others are more subdued, some are a little noisy, as happy children many times are, especially some of the boys in the 7 to 10-year-old range, who in the markets can be downright squirrely – dancing and jumping and scampering about ahead of their grandparents, particularly in the produce section, energized and moving about in a flash, interested in everything they see, especially the fruit, the more exotic and colorful, the greater the intrigue.

Now considering children, and with this posting, grandchildren, of which I have ten, perhaps I am more naturally, and spiritually, attuned to this young exuberance of life, as I have always enjoyed this wonderful energy and I have also come to believe that Jesus as a boy would have been a happy, kind, energetic, curious, squirrely little kid skipping and jumping about, and greatly alive to everything around him – as opposed to being a dour, silent, and judgmental miniature John Calvin sourpuss. 

When I mentioned this thought to a group of friends from my former church, what I said was almost labeled as heresy by some who could not conceive within their theology a happy, lively, Jesus, as a boy, but … I’m still sticking to my view, theology, and narrative of Jesus as a very happy, lively, yet sensitive kid who was a joy to have around.  However, I digress – way hugely for some in the past, and hugely for others now – I am sure. 

Now the first grandfather of this tale of two was close to home, an older white grandfather – older even than I am – whom I saw in the bread aisle with his little grandson who was sitting in the child’s seat of the grocery cart, while I was shopping at my local Vons market – real space and time.  The little boy, maybe about two or a little older, was of mixed white and Asian heritage, a cute lively boy – happy and singing and talking to himself and looking about, rocking slightly back and forth as he sat in the child’s seat of the shopping cart facing his grandfather.

The grandfather pushing the cart, was a tall well-groomed man with silver gray hair, mostly expressionless of face, standing very upright and almost stiff, as if from a disciplined military background, looking and acting more than just a little out of place.  He was not the one doing the shopping – definitely only on pushcart duty – and his wife, obviously the grandmother, said something to him that I could not hear, and then she left him and the boy in the cart , probably going off looking for something they needed for the boy.  And the grandfather, still expressionless, watched his wife quickly walk towards the end of the aisle where she then turned to the left and disappeared from sight, and … now … he looked entirely alone, abandoned even, and even more out of place, whatever his set, familiar, and static place might be.

Then, as I continued to watch discretely from a short distance away – for the manner of the grandfather and this random scenario had caught my eye – I eventually beheld something wonderful, quiet, and miraculous unfold before my eyes.

For some moments, the grandfather just remained looking without expression at the space of his wife’s leaving – as if stunned by this unexpected and, worse, unplanned for event – but the little boy, seemingly unaware of the exit of his grandmother and the presence of his grandfather in front of him, continued with his happy talking and singing and looking around and rocking back and forth, completely within himself, and happy from the inside out.

And then after a moment, the happy voice and singing of the little boy seemed to startle the grandfather, because remaining stiff and upright, he suddenly bent just his head to look down at his grandson, looking surprised as if he was hearing his grandson’s singing for the first time, and amazed by the presence of this little living singer – the small person right in front of him. 

Then with a quick shake of his head, as if wakening from a stupor, the grandfather, for the first time, at least in my viewing, looked down upon the boy, his gaze now focused upon him, his head and body now bending a bit more, his eyes blinking a few times, as if inspecting with an intense fixed gaze something new and unknown seen for the very first time. 

And as the grandfather gazed down at the little boy, he seemed to become oblivious to everything around him – like a soldier suddenly dropping his guard – and as he beheld his grandson, his rigid, disciplined, expressionless face for the first time began to soften, especially around the eyes, and his set emotionless composure now changed into something more human and alive. And I realized then that I was seeing this older man – now seemingly isolated and insulated from everything around him, with nothing competing within the windows of his eyes or the being of his soul – as he looked down on a child – his grandson – seeing the singing little boy for the first time as a separate living person. 

The grandfather’s face then seemed to expand in quiet wonder as if something soft and beautiful was deeply touching his inner being for the first time – the boy transforming from “something” to … grandson, yes, his grandson, his own child’s child, in his eyes for the first time, another living human being, but now with the possessive adjective “his” attached.

Then, after a time, the grandfather’s right hand lifted from the grocery cart, slowly and carefully – as if without conscious thought.  His hand stayed suspended over the boy for a moment, the man still intently gazing upon the top of his grandson’s happy moving head as the boy continued to sing and talk and look around. 

Then the grandfather’s hand – his fingers slightly moving as if caressing – slowly, carefully, with slight hesitations, descended upon the boy’s head, his fingers then lightly swirling within the boy’s dark hair, so lightly that the boy did not at first notice, but then, still singing and talking, he looked up into this grandfather’s face and perhaps for the first time, the grandfather gazed down into the bright, happy eyes of his grandson.  And for a moment, mediated by his disciplined focused gaze into the eyes of the boy before him, the grandfather’s fingers continually moved ever so gently upon and through the boy’s hair, conferring, it seemed, personhood, being, possession, and love for the grandson that he has just truly seen for the very first time.

When the grandmother came back a few moments later, the grandfather looked up from the boy and they resumed their grocery shopping. The grandfather then returned to his pushcart duty, but now with his eyes and head moving over the little boy, suddenly a grandson to him, a new understanding, and a new relationship deep within his life and soul – and I saw it all.

***

The tale of the other grandfather takes place at the Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri.  During the summer, a couple of years ago, for a week, we as the whole large family – nineteen of us – rented a huge lake house, and we also rented a boat that we took out multiple times a day.

One day we decided to go to a public beach very suitable for the little grandchildren – some of the family traveling by boat, others in at least two cars – and since it was one of the targeted destinations that day, and we also brought food, chairs, and towels. 

At the sheltered beach, the little ones paddled about the crowded shallow area, and we adults placed our chairs in the water, put on our hats and baseball caps, and slathered ourselves with sunblock, as there was really no shade in the water.  But it was still a very nice time just sitting in the water, watching the grandchildren, and talking among us and to the parents and grandparents all around us.  We all mostly talked of our children and grandchildren, a few intrigued by the fact that we had grandchildren at the lake from California, Missouri, and New York.

After a while, I noticed a big middle-aged man, tall and about 40 pounds or so overweight, wearing a tee shirt that boldly proclaimed a political allegiance and policies definitely not the same as mine.  And he intrigued me, for his shirt, yes, but also even more for the fact that even though he was a very big man, he was gingerly and very carefully stepping around all the adults in chairs and all the little kids in the big shallow section, wanting to get near his three grandsons, two of them, the older brothers in the five and six year-old range, nearing the end of the roped off area of the very shallow play area for the smaller kids. 

The youngest grandson – a very blond little boy, about the same age it seemed as my two-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter, was a bit small for his age, or at least he seemed small compared to my granddaughter who was big for her age – had not been able to keep up with his two older brothers moving across the shallow end, and was still slowly and carefully moving alone through all the chairs of the sitting adults and the legs of those standing, and the boisterous chaos of the running and jumping kids older than he all around. 

Occasionally as the little boy moved through a break in the crowd, I caught a full glimpse of him, a cautious young one who still seemed to have some baby fat upon him, as he walked, looking down at his feet, up at the adults around him, to his two older, taller, thinner brothers, now a small distance away, their ribs showing as they raised their arms to venture out of the very shallow play area, into slightly deeper and cooler water beyond the roped area.

Then the steps of the bulk of the man walking towards his grandsons quickened a bit, and finally reaching the youngest, he took his grandson’s hand to keep him from following his brothers into the deeper part, just as any big and gentle grandfather would do to keep his grandson safe, and not having to yell and shout and madly dash through the little kid crowded shallow end to rescue a small little grandson from venturing out too far. 

Now he probably wouldn’t have had to dash through the crowd to save his grandson, as there were tons of watching moms and dads and grandparents around with eyes on all the little children ready to grab any stray little kid from danger – but why take chances?  For this was the way that I myself would have thought of the situation – this big hulk of a man thinking just like any other cautious, careful grandfather – his political tee-shirt becoming much less a defining factor of him in my mind to the point that it was no longer a focal point when I looked at him.

After watching the rescue, I resumed my conversations with all those around me and after a time, we left the water and found an almost vacant table on which we could feed the little ones and nibble ourselves on what we brought, but eventually we had to buy hamburgers, hotdogs, fries, and such, for no matter how much food we brought, we never had enough for our teenage grandsons, and since we were buying extra food for the big grandsons, we decided to also buy some more food for all of us.  It was also nice being in the shade of the trees lining and sheltering the beach from the road.  After eating, it was back in the water with the chairs.

Then an hour or so later, I again noticed the big grandfather.  He was talking with the boy’s parents and others, and it seemed and that they were going to pack up, getting ready to head for the grandfather’s boat that had brought them all to the beach. 

Now the elevated wooden walkway, leading to where many of the boats were parked in individual slips, ran along one side of the shallow end, and was chest high to a big man where all the younger children were in the water.  So instead of juggling all the stuff they had brought for the day, along with the three young boys, in order to just make their way back to the entrance to the walkway, back near the picnic tables and trees along the road, the other adults started to pack up getting ready to leave, while the grandfather led the three boys back into the water next to the walkway.  Again, I was intrigued.  I wasn’t sure how all this was going to play out.

Then, as I watched from my chair in the water, the grandfather stopped in the water next to the walkway, and beginning with the oldest grandson, he gently lifted him high enough so that he could crawl under the lower board and stand up on the walkway.  I had gotten the impression from some of the things I heard the family say, that the grandfather brought his grandsons and others often to the beach in his boat, and I realized that the big man had probably done this before.

So he lifted the oldest, then the middle brother, and then he looked down at the youngest who had quietly stood close beside him waiting his turn.  This youngest grandson, the very blond little kid with some baby fat still, looked up at him, and the big man bent down and gently picked up the little boy, looked at him for a moment, kissed him on the forehead, looked at him again, then lifted him up and set him on the walkway sideways so that his arms and legs were fully on the walkway, protecting his little head with his large hand so the little boy would not lift his head too soon and knock it on the board.

Once the little one safely stood up on the walkway, the big grandfather, still 40 pounds or so overweight, told them all to stay just there where they stood as he was going to come to them and help them all into the boat.  The three boys just nodded their heads in unison and waited, where they stood, for their parents, the other adults, and their grandpa.

When their grandpa with the political tee-shirt, and the others, eventually got to where the three young boys waited, the grandfather picked up the youngest, who especially seemed to be waiting for him, kissed him again, and they all walked and disappeared out of my sight somewhere down the walkway where their grandpa’s boat waited.

After seeing this very tender display, I thought about this man, so different politically from me, but so very close to me in attitudes and actions of a grandfather.  I believe that if we had had a chance to talk, we would have talked about being grandfathers and being protective, and gentle, and kissing grandchildren every chance that came our way. That would have bonded us together and I believe – and hope – that all of that would have transcended the non-essential political, with the essentialness of the deep love of a grandfather for his grandchildren – something eternally human, true, and good – and something equally greatly treasured by both of us.

***

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Moments of Seeing & Occasional Pieces – Writing In The Shade Of Trees