Grand parenting is the best job ever. Yesterday my two grandchildren, Anthony and Kassandra, were at the house. They played quietly. Little angels wishing only to make you happy. Truly a joy to be around.
My wife and Kassandra made cookies. Anthony and I had discussions about cold fusion and airplanes, and unlike my daughters, his gaze didn’t wonder or his eyes glass over with a look of sheer boredom.
Then children at the learned age of sixteen, conclude their parents have had a lobotomy. Now you’re the dumbest person who ever walked the planet. While grandchildren, no matter their age, look to their grandparents with admiration and love.
Your children, looking at you with their, as if, look, “You don’t know what it’s like being sixteen. When you were growing up, there wasn’t any fashion.”
Another one of my personal favorites is when your daughter looks at you, “You know nothing about anything. You are making my life miserable.”
Then a miracle happens, they marry and have kids. Now you’re getting phone calls in the middle of the night, “I can’t get the children to eat anything green.”
The sobbing phone call, “I talk to them and talk to them and they act like I’m not there.”
Then the best one is the call, “These kids think I’m there maid not their mother.”
I cannot count how many times I heard that from my children’s mother. Hearing it brings a smile to a grandparent’s face.
Carma can be cruel.
