The First Timers Guide
A Monthly Chronicle for the New Grandparent
By Gary P. Joyce
So, how silly do grandparents get with their first grandchild? Well, sillier than they got with their first child, that’s for sure. Case in point. I’m driving past a garage sale the other day, returning from the local tool palace, having priced a new belt sander … and not having purchased even the cheapest. It’s a Saturday, so keep an eye out on garage sales. Ya’ never know, right?
So. I pass the garage sale, pull over and do the usual guy-at-a-garage-sale walk through. Hmmm. I know one man’s junk is another man’s treasure, but there aren’t any tools in sight, just junk, junk, and …hey, what’s this?
Buried under a stack of water skis, I see the nose of surfboard sticking out. I started surfing in the early 1960s and was doing so pretty much right up until the ol’ ticker started not ticking, but still … you can never have enough surfboards, and this was a five foot six inch, triple fin, which would go perfect with my “quiver:” a nine-footer, an 8-foot-10 tri and the 6-foot-8 single-fin still in the basement.
I heft the board and note right away that it’s beyond saving … even for the paltry sum of $10, and demure from purchasing it.
But wait a minute! The light dawns and I see my just-turned-one-year-old following grandpa across the beach to the ocean (okay, following my footsteps in the sand. That better?).
I think the woman who was selling the board, noticed the little falter, the little hitch that was body language for “hmmm, but maybe…” and, sharp-eyed, she pounced. We haggle some more and finally settle on $2, but even though the board will never see waves again, it will see water and is the perfect board to get my grandson standing on this summer.
Oh, I won’t expect him to actually start surfing for — well, another year or two at the least — but, hey, it won’t hurt him to get used to standing on it, right?
The kid’s parents, my wife, the folks I work with, etc., all give me that smile that is reserved for the lunatic relatives and friends we have, nodding at me, as I describe my plans. Yeah, that’s it. A surfer. The kid’s perfect for it. Why, by the time he’s five we’ll have him at Maverick’s surfing that year’s Big Wednesday swell (of course, we won’t tell his parents). Yeah, that’s the ticket. Start ’em early, I say.
So, the next time you see the lost [insert your favorite toy] at a garage sale, pick it up. Being a grandparent means never having to apologize for being crazy over your grandchild (maybe yourself, but not your grandchildren!).