Content to live a cliche

I have become a cliché.
And it feels great.
Back when Connie and I first learned that we were to become grandparents, the kidding started.
We’ve come relatively late to the grandparents’ game, and those in our age cohort were quick to tell us we were in for something special:
“You’re beginning a new part of your life.”
“There’s nothing like it.”
“How ya doin’, grandpa?”
And then there were those who just smiled knowingly — I’d put Pastor Mark Strietelmeier in this category — the ones who were delighting in being grandparents and couldn’t wait to see someone else fall down that particular rabbit hole.
But I was a little skeptical.
That’s not because I don’t like kids. I love kids. Being a father has provided some of the richest moments of my life.
But it’s just my nature that when everyone tells me A, I start to think in terms of B. And when you’ve heard a hundred times, “you’re going to love being a grandparent,” it’s only natural — at least to us skeptics — to hear a little voice in the back of the head muttering, “Says who?”
So as Emily’s pregnancy progressed, I’d accept the various comments with a smile and a simultaneous grain of salt.
Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled about becoming a grandfather. I just had trouble imagining myself in that role, passing out photos of the newborn baby, asserting that he was the best baby in the history of mankind.
Even after Julian was born, that was still the case.
I was thrilled and a little giddy, but I was enough of a curmudgeon not to go overboard, though the pictures sent via e-mail melted my heart.
Connie flew out to Boston to help for the first 10 days or so, and I followed for a weekend, arriving on a Friday afternoon.
That afternoon and that evening at Emily and Mike’s apartment had one purpose: Holding the baby.
I would hold Julian. Connie would hold Julian, and I would tickle under his chin. Mike would hold his son, and I would be envious. I would hold him again and be thankful that my son-in-law was sharing.
He was, we all agreed, the most beautiful infant ever born, though we knew that millions of parents and grandparents had come to the same conclusion about millions of other babies. There was, for that matter, a time when my parents or Connie’s parents thought the same about us.
It was all pretty heady stuff, but I didn’t really begin to understand until the next day.
We were staying in a B&B in Brookline, as close as we could get to Emily and Mike’s apartment.
And when I awoke on Saturday morning after an afternoon and a night of holding our first grandchild, one thing was on my mind as it slipped into consciousness: The baby.
And that’s when I understood. That instant is when I got it.
All of the clichés are true. There’s something different — difficult to describe and incredibly delightful — about being a grandparent.
And so, we have become clichés, willingly, proudly, and with some real spring in our step.
And if you’d like to see pictures of the most beautiful baby boy in the world, just ask.
In fact, you probably don’t need to ask.[[In-content Ad]]