She’s a tiny thing.
My first grandchild.
Her name is Lorianna. Six pounds, 10 ounces. Born in Guayaquil, Ecuador. A bit out of sequence with the wedding, but we’ll sort that out shortly.
My wife, who’s there with my daughter and Walter’s family, says she’s beautiful.
Pause here for a moment and reflect.
In the entire history of the planet, has any grandmother ever thought otherwise?
I’ll admit that a mingling of French, Incan, Spanish, Welsh, and Italian genes does bring beauty to mind, but I’m probably just a bit prejudiced, too.
As I write this, I have a small glass of brandy alongside my keyboard.
Between toasts, I’m writing something for her mother and father. I thought they might find it useful. Nothing extraordinary. Just a few simple things parents have learned over the years.
They’re not usually found in any book on child raising. My guess is that the experts are afraid to mention them because simple things that work tend to put experts out of business – and experts purely do hate that.
With the above as preamble, here’s what I’m sending them:
* n n
Pretty scary, isn’t it? Realizing that, from now on, you’re responsible for guiding that child through life.
If you’re looking at each other and wondering where to begin, here’s an easy first step.
Take her in your arms and give her a hug.
Hold her close and feel her warmth. Do it often and enjoy it every time because what you’re feeling is innocence – pure as it can be – and there’s not much of it left in the world.
When you’re not hugging her, tickle her or blow raspberries on her stomach to make her laugh and, when she laughs, laugh with her.
Comfort her when she cries. Hold her tight. Hold her ‘til the tears dry.
When she’s tired, rock her in your arms and sing her to sleep.
As she gets older …
Make pies and cookies together and blow flour in each other’s face. Make cakes and brownies and lick the batter together.
Show her spider webs and bird nests. Catch lightning bugs in a jar and let her watch them glow.
Take her to the park and put her on the swings and slides. Better yet, swing and slide with her.
When it rains, find the biggest puddles, and jump up and down in them with her.
Read her stories about ghosts and goblins, princes and kings, knights and ladies, and lions and tigers.
At night, help her count the stars.
Pick flowers and berries with her. Teach her to play ball and skip rope. Show her how to fish and fly kites and blow bubbles.
Teach her to ride a bike. Teach her how to hammer and saw. Make squirrel feeders and bird houses with her. Let her have a pet and let it sleep with her at night.
Let her put the expensive ornaments on the tree. If she breaks one, you break one too. Then giggle about it all.
Teach her right from wrong, good from bad, and show her that judgment, respect, manners and traditions are important.
Let her compete and learn both the absolute joy of hard-earned victory and the utter dejection of well-played loss.
Let her know that you pray when you realize you can’t do it alone and that there’s someone she can call on when she needs to. Remind her that you’ll always be around too.
Don’t let others raise her. Be there when she wakes up and goes to bed. Tell her you’re proud of her. Set boundaries for her and stick to them. Let her know that you love her more than anything else on Earth.
Never worry about what to buy her because, I guarantee, what she really wants isn’t found in stores, anyway.
Do these things and, at some point, she’ll realize that she’s both cared for and worth being cared for.
And with that one, simple realization, she’ll be ready to tackle the world.
Start today. Tomorrow is too late. Forget drivel like “quality time.” To a child, “quality time” is the moment he or she most wants to be with you. All of the rest, when they want you and you’re not there, is something called disappointment. It weighs heavy on their little shoulders.
Finally, if you forget all else, remember that first small thing: just hug her every chance you get.
Trust me, it’ll pay off. Always has.
* n n
I guess I’ll send this to them tomorrow.
One thing I won’t mention, though.
This “Grandpa” thing will take some getting used to.
But I think I’m going to enjoy it.
Larry Simoneaux lives in Edmonds. Comments can be sent to larrysim@att.net.
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