Grampa Next Door

This is a repost from my old blog, dated June 7, 2009.

Today my dad took a couple of the youngest children for a walk.  Not ten steps past our driveway, still in front of our house, the preschooler fell down.

I was sitting in the kitchen nook when it happened, watching them head slowly up the street.  An overgrown flower bed blocked my view so I didn’t actually see him hit the ground.  My dad quickly leaned down and helped him up.  By the look on my sons face, it was easy to tell he had gone down hard.  He stood there, red faced and crying, while my dad brushed the dirt and bits of gravel off his clothing.  5, 10, 15 seconds passed while my son stood sobbing.  All the while, my dad knelt beside him, brushing his clothes.

Eventually the crying ended and the red in my son’s face subsided to its natural color.  As they continued on their journey, hand in hand up the road, I considered the relationship between this unlikely pair of neighbors and friends.

For most of my life, my dad has lived hundreds of miles away from me.   For the most part, our time together could be counted in hours, days or weeks, with an occasional month long visit at summer time.  My son was just barely born when my dad moved into the house next door.  This was a big and welcome change for all of us.  While it may have been new and unusual for most of us, to my son, who has lived his entire life in a house next door to his Grampa, this arrangement is perfectly normal.

Ever since he was old enough to let himself out of the house, my son could be found hanging out at my dad’s house.  The first few times he got out, we panicked and ran out into the yard and street, calling his name and thinking the worst had happened.  Each time, we eventually found him at my dad’s house, working in the yard, eating a snack at the kitchen table, or listening to my dad read a book or play the guitar. 

Even now, at least once a day, he will slink away next door for a visit or a treat.  And, since those first scary experiences, my dad has learned to let us know where the little guy is as soon as he gets there.   

Recently, my dad took a week off work to get his yard in shape.  My son would spend hours over there every day, chatting with Dad and working in the yard.  When my dad finally went back to work, his preschooler buddy was very distressed and sulked around the house for several hours.

Lest you think this relationship is all one sided, listen to this.  On several occasions, my dad, who will be 65 this week, has mentioned how much he enjoys having my son come and visit him.  Of course it’s great to get a visit now and then from a grandson.  And yes, clearly one is in charge, while the other is aimlessly following him around (but, even these rolls change from time to time).  All said, they really do seem to enjoy one another’s company as good, old friends should. 

I suspect the enjoyment of one another’s company is most of what makes this friendship work – or any friendship for that matter.  It’s the spending time with someone you like – and who likes you back just as much – that makes a friendship a friendship.

If all goes as planned – and of course things rarely go as planned – I imagine we have about 15 years or so until this four year old son heads out into the world on his own.  It will be interesting to watch his relationship with my dad as it evolves over those 15 years and beyond. 

As a very young boy, my dad and his mother lived for a short time with his own grandfather.  Now, over 60 years later, he often talks with great fondness about this period of his life.  He very much loved his grandfather and is thankful for the many firsthand memories he has of him.  I am thankful as well, that my children will have similar memories of growing up next door to their own Grampa.

Snowy Parking Lot

He left his wife in the crowded doorway and stepped into the snowy night.  On the slushy, slippery path, a long-time friend from work walked a step or two behind him.  He pointed his elbow back toward her and offered that she take it. 

“No,” she said, more out of habit than pride. 

He slowed his pace and allowed his elbow to linger there, where she could easily take it when she changed her mind.

"Maybe I will,” she said, and grabbed, more onto his coat than his arm. 

At that very moment her footing slipped, and he felt a firm tug at his coat.  AI guess, at times, I do need a man to lean on," she joked as she quickly regained her balance.

An awkward silence lingered a moment in the wind and snow and cold. 

“Where are you parked,” he asked, slowing his pace again. 

“I’m parked way out there,” she said, gesturing with her free hand toward the back of the parking lot.

“Good,” he answered, “I’m parked way out there too.”

They walked and chatted with each other like the old friends they’ve always been. 

“It was a nice party, don't you think?”

“Yes,” he responded.  “But I was thinking just today that no one throws a company party quite as well as you do.”  He meant it too.  It had been three years since she was responsible for this annual party, but he thought often, especially at this time of year, about when the company was smaller, and things were somehow easier.  Of course things weren’t easier back then.  But, he sometimes imagined they were.  The recent parties were always nice, but not like in years past.

She thanked him and quickly moved the conversation away from the subject.  “I apologize for the way my staff acted tonight.  They’ve obviously had too much to drink.”

“You aren’t their mother,” he said.  “I think they’re funny to watch.”   

“Since they’re too drunk to drive home, they’re all going to crash here tonight at the hotel.”  She paused a second and then continued, "Three of them have to be at work in the morning."

“That should be fun for them,” he said, thinking of a long, snow-packed drive in the early morning, followed by a long day at work with a well-deserved hangover. 

“Yes,” she agreed.  "And, it doesn’t look like things will be letting up anytime soon."
He smiled, not sure if she had meant the snow, or the party, or both.

She slipped a few more times before they reached the row of cars she was parked on.  She didn’t say anything more about it and he did the same.  Maybe she wouldn’t have fallen, but, maybe she would have.  Either way, he was glad he had offered to help. 

“Here we are at my car,” she said, again gesturing.  “Thanks for your help.”

They were still not close enough to the car that he thought he could just let her go.  He wondered if the comment was her way of letting him off easy. 

But, he also sensed that in the comment there seemed to be a hint of test:  Would he let her go now, or would he follow through to the end?  It was as if she was trying to find out if he really wanted to help, or if he was only performing some act of chivalrous service just long enough to say he had. 

Just as easily, it could be her finely tuned sense of self reliance, coming again to the surface, and forcing her to shake off any sign of weakness or dependence. 

He decided the correct response to all three was to continue on, and turned decidedly toward her car, her hand still gripping tightly to his coat. 

When they reached her car, she loosened her grip and slipped away.  He thought about offering to clear the heavy covering of snow from the windows, but quickly decided he had already done more than she was comfortable with. 

“Well, have a good weekend,” he said, moving back the way they had come. 

"You too,” she said, already brushing snow from the car.  “Thanks for walking me.  I appreciate your help.” 

“No problem,” he said.  “See you soon.”  And turning away, he walked slowly back to his own car.

Clark