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Whenever I interviewed elders for my Good Grandpa book, whether it was my Aunt Lois, a retired pro football grandpa, or the Dalai Lama, I always concluded by asking for…
Whenever I interviewed elders for my Good Grandpa book, whether it was my Aunt Lois, a retired pro football grandpa, or the Dalai Lama, I always concluded by asking for their #1 most essential wisdom.
As you can imagine, I learned some wonderful things along the way. Their ideas where like beautiful antiques, enough to fill a chest in the attic one might come across one day and open with great delight.
Just a few weeks after I submitted the manuscript to my publisher, my wife and I received another gift: our son is expecting his third child early next year — another girl. This will bring our tally of grandchildren to five, which we are of course over the moon about. It also means that our eldest granddaughter, Roen—now 6—will have two little sisters. We took Roen and her little sister, Mae, out for a delicious gluten-free brunch to celebrate. As I watched them chatting away and devouring their breakfast sandwiches, I thought again about all those #1 things that the elders shared with me. And here before me was an “elder” in a different form, still a child, but a big sister who perhaps had some wisdom to share. So, on a lark, I asked Roen for her #1 most essential wisdom.
“No matter what you want to do,” Roen replied, “be your best at it.”
This sounded so adult-like I thought maybe I’d misheard her. But sure enough, this six-year-old girl had in fact shared some excellent wisdom with us. It’s possible her parents, or her other grandparents, had shared these exact words with her recently and she was parroting them back. Or she’d learned this on her own. Or something in-between.
There was a lesson there for me in that moment, something that brought back memories of my time as a young father: don’t assume that children have nothing meaningful to contribute.
In fact, do the opposite. There is often a freshness to their thinking, an innate wisdom that too often gets lost in the shuffle when they grow up and get distracted by the heavy demands of adulthood. The treasure chests of childhood wisdom are typically overlooked simply because we assume they are not there.
I’d been seeking wisdom only from old people like me, but perhaps—like love—wisdom is actually all around.
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What started as an idea is now a completed manuscript that’s already getting positive reviews from two tough critics — my agent, Paul Bresnick, and my publisher, Gretchen Young. Both…
What started as an idea is now a completed manuscript that’s already getting positive reviews from two tough critics — my agent, Paul Bresnick, and my publisher, Gretchen Young.
Both Paul and Gretchen have extensive backgrounds as editors with large publishing houses and have provided very candid feedback to me throughout my year-long book writing journey. They always give me the straight scoop, good or bad. Which is why I’m very excited to share their take on the manuscript.
Here’s what Paul had to say: “The book is inspiring, uplifting, and brimming with practical wisdom. The writing is so good – evocative and filled with genuine emotion. It’s populated with a diverse cast of characters whose stories are vividly told and who each have something unique and important to contribute – all in the service of filling out the wisdom tree.”
Here’s Gretchen’s feedback: “You did a really thoughtful and thorough job here. Your experience with your own grandparents, your journey as a grandfather, and your conversations with other grandfathers (a diverse cast of them, as well), along with the lessons woven throughout the essays — all really well-done! Thanks for being super conscientious about seeking out a wide variety of grandfathers — that greatly benefitted the text. I was touched by your conversations with others. I was moved by the poignancy while also smiling and laughing. Great balance of emotions. Grandpas will LOVE it…. as will many other readers!”
Thank you so much for following the blog. My purpose is to nurture the next great generation, and as you know this is a group effort. I could not have written the book without the involvement of wonderful grandpas who took the time to talk with me and share their stories and wisdom. The more people read the book, the more we can disseminate the extraordinary advice these grandpas have offered us.
The book will be published by Regalo Press and distributed by Simon & Schuster, with a planned launch in time for Father’s Day next year. The best way to keep up to the date with the book launch is to subscribe to the Good Grandpa blog. If you know of someone who would enjoy the book, please send them a link to the blog. My newsletter signup form is on the home page. Stay tuned!
When I was growing up with my four older brothers, all of them very large like me, my mother became masterful at making meals that could feed our small army….
When I was growing up with my four older brothers, all of them very large like me, my mother became masterful at making meals that could feed our small army.
She didn’t just make one big pot of baked ziti, she’d make two. Loaves of her delicious homemade bread would cover the kitchen counters. Our giant salad bowl could hold a whole garden. When dinner started, it was like a pack of wolves had been released, and soon what at first looked like a lot of food was no longer there. My mom, five foot ten inches tall, would remain standing, busy shoveling more food onto the table. If there was a smidgen of ziti or whatever remaining in the pot, she’d hold it in front of us and command, “Eat this up!”
I recall one night where mom had made meatloaf. We ate almost the entire pan. About an hour after dinner, my brother John said to our mom, “I’m still hungry.” She replied, “Finish up the meatloaf.” He sure did. What we didn’t know until later that night was that mom had made two pans of meatloaf. My brother had polished off the sliver left in the first pan, along with the entire second pan. Impressive even by Page standards.
These big family meals were also extremely entertaining, absolute riots of brotherly jokes and ribbing and stories and multiple conversations all at once, each brother one upping the other, and all with our own unique personalities on full display.
My dad would jump into the conversations here and there but often seemed to be more of an observer of the show he’d helped build through his post-war baby booming. When he did talk, it was often with the intent to build our vocabularies. He’d say something like, “The traffic in Cambridge was quite heavy tonight, partly because potholes were so ubiquitous,” raising one eyebrow. I learned a lot of words this way. When my brothers went off to college one by one, our dinners became quieter and quieter until it was just me and my parents. I really missed our ravenous, boisterous big family cacophony.
I remembered those dinners this summer when I experienced again, in a whole new way, our big family in all its glory.
Both of my adult children and their families were visiting us at our place in Vermont for two weeks. We braced for impact, putting in two extra leaves in the dining room table and stocking up two refrigerators with plenty of food to feed the coming horde. Suddenly we had six adults and four grandchildren at the table, our familial army of Atilla the Hun. One night we had three racks of lamb, an enormous pot of rice, salads, steamed broccoli, rolls and butter, plus brownies and ice cream. Our conversations rocketed in arcs back and forth across the table like stones flung by trebuchets, the assault on the giant platter of lamb was highly successful, my grandchildren cheerfully gnawing the chops while chatting happily with their cousins. Our youngest granddaughter decided midway through the meal to dispense with using a fork for her rice, and instead grabbed handfuls of it to stuff in her mouth (parental protestations ensued, but not before wet rice blanketed the floor like new-fallen snow.)
I loved all of it. The whole loud glorious mess.
Not long after the kids headed home, there was a bruhaha about a certain candidate for Vice President who disparaged women for not having children. He referred to “a bunch of childless cat ladies who are miserable at their own lives and the choices that they’ve made and so they want to make the rest of the country miserable too.”
What this attack dog said was of course purrrrfectly stupid on so many levels, but his statement was just one loud bark out of many now ringing out across the globe as politicians bemoan falling birth rates. China, which had a one child policy for decades, is now urging women to make babies. It’s a national crisis. They know they won’t be a global power in the future without actual humans to work in their factories or attend universities.
Many young people in the U.S. and Europe are also choosing to forgo parenthood, so the volume of the attack dog barks keeps rising higher.
The response from young couples is predictable. Hateful rhetoric in America, or dictates from communist regimes, is rightfully condemned or simply ignored. Young people are shutting off the noise and going about their lives, allocating money to car payments and rent versus diapers and daycare.
The hard reality is that our world has made it difficult for young people to have hope. They don’t want to bring children into a messed-up environment. They worry that our government is broken. They have a hard time juggling work and family, not to mention the high cost of living. As a result, on our present course, there will be a lot fewer families in the future adding extra leaves to their dining room tables.
What’s the solution? Step one is not judging anyone for choosing any particular lifestyle.
There is also another pathway, one that I’ve come to see in the course of writing the Good Grandpa book. I’ve interviewed many grandpas from all walks of life to hear their stories and learn their wisdom (including a Rabbi who has nearly forty grandkids. He said their family get-togethers are like being in Grand Central Station). In every interview, I’ve asked grandpas for their #1 most essential wisdom. Spoiler alert: what’s emerged is not one single concept across the spectrum of grandpas, but a constellation of North stars joined together by universal truths.
That said, I did hear one thing mentioned by quite a few men. Be kind.
These two simple words mean so much for our grown children. They don’t want to be told to have kids. But if we as grandparents are truly kind in every possible way, we help foster a family environment that brings hope to our troubled world. We can babysit grandkids, provide financial support, offer our wisdom. We can be there for them through good times and bad, let them know they are not alone in the incredibly arduous journey called parenthood. We’ve been there. We’ve done this. We’ve got this.
This is not a new idea, it’s an old one.
Many of the grandpas I interviewed spoke of wonderful childhoods where their grandparents lived with them or right next door. These days, that is all too rare. The Chinese and Indian grandpas I spoke with currently spend at least six months of each year living with their kids and helping care for their grandkids. We have a lot to learn from their cultures.
The other thing we can do as grandparents is to provide some historical context. Young people of child-bearing age may think our country is a wreck – there’s so much division and vitriol. Why would they want to bring a child into this? But those of us of a certain age were around when JFK, RFK and MLK were murdered. The Vietnam war was raging. There was rioting in the streets, student protestors getting shot on campus. Watergate was a shit-show. It was rough but life went on. The country went on, and maybe we learned a few things along the way.
Hateful language and governmental dictates will not fill our dining room tables with boisterous happy children. Kindness and love will.
As I write the Good Grandpa book I’m grouping my interviews with grandpas by topic—for example, three veterans from different branches of the military—then writing a chapter focused on…
The Dalai Lama
As I write the Good Grandpa book I’m grouping my interviews with grandpas by topic—for example, three veterans from different branches of the military—then writing a chapter focused on what I learn.
I ask a lot of questions and always conclude with what I call the Billy Crystal City Slickers question: What’s the #1 thing that matters?
I’ve found that when I compare and contrast these #1s they form fascinating patterns, all imbued with flavors of meaning that can only be derived from their careers and life experiences.
Most recently, I met with four grandpas who are religious leaders, a priest, imam and two rabbis (one orthodox, one reform). It sounds a bit like the old joke “A priest, a rabbi and an imam walk into a bar….” But I can guarantee you that what these men told me was no joke. I was floored.
The last lap of my journey of religious wisdom discovery led me to Buddhism and a gentleman who is not actually a grandpa, at least not in a literal sense.
Lhamo Thondup was born on a straw mat in a cowshed in 1935, one of sixteen children in a humble farming family. In 1940, he was recognized as the 14th Dalai Lama and is currently the highest spiritual leader and head of Tibetan Buddhism. I wrote a letter to His Holiness in February of 2024 asking if he’d be available for a conversation. Four months later I received an email from his secretary saying the Dalai Lama, at 89, was devoting more time to rest and personal practice, and hence not available to meet. I wrote back to say that I understood and appreciated the response. However, after meeting with the four other religious leaders I felt I had given up on the Dalai Lama too easily. I wrote back and asked his secretary to ask him one question on my behalf, the #1 thing that mattered for grandchildren the world over.
The Dalai Lama replied, “Compassion is the key to the future well-being of our planet and fellow human beings.”
Excited to hear from His Holiness, I sought to better understand Buddhist teachings on compassion. Here’s how the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying defines compassion: “It is not simply a sense of sympathy or caring for the other person’s suffering, not simply a warmth of heart toward the person before you, or a sharp clarity of the recognition of their needs and pain, it is also a sustained sense and practical determination to do whatever is possible and necessary to help alleviate their suffering.”
In other words, it’s not enough to be a compassionate person, we actually have to take action to help others. There are all kinds of implications here for us as grandparents.
What comes to mind first is that after each school shooting there are the usual calls for “thoughts and prayers.” This is followed by politicians doing just about nothing. Then there’s another school shooting. And another. And another. This carnage is adding up on an almost unimaginable scale. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, childhood firearm fatalities increased by 87.1% over a 10-year period, rising to 2,590 deaths in 2021, beating out car accidents. Putting this number in perspective, a good-sized high school auditorium seats around 600 students. Imagine every single year over 4 auditoriums packed with children and teens die by gunfire.
Having genuine compassion requires us to solve this problem fast.
The question is, how? Passions run high on each side of the gun issue in America, with the NRA and other gun-rights advocates steadfastly supporting the Second Amendment, while parents and students clamor for much tighter restrictions on gun ownership. I suggest we meet in the middle on common ground. I have no doubt that all grandparents love their grandchildren. There is no red and blue color code on our national map when it comes to caring deeply about the safety of these kids. We urgently need a national conversation about what can be done to protect our grandchildren from harm, and this can’t be just one side talking. It’s going to take everybody and it has to be respectful.
One might ask, why should grandparents be the ones to make this happen? For starters, nobody else is, so why not?
Secondly, we often hear people say we’re living in a “new normal.” But those of us who are older remember a world without school shootings and we will not accept the normalization of horror. We have the time-tested experience and the moral authority required to convene this national conversation. And if any adults misbehave along the way, we’ll send them to a timeout chair.
All of the religious leaders I met with offered up their own unique perspectives, their own #1 thing. When I see their ideas in aggregate a larger picture emerges, a unifying umbrella of meaning. It’s not one pane of stained glass in a house of worship; there’s a full, rich image with light streaming through each section of color to paint a portrait I will never forget. I will be sharing this with you when the Good Grandpa book is published in 2025.
In the meantime, let’s listen to the Dalai Lama. It’s time to take action—compassionately—to stand up for the safety of all grandchildren.
On December 3rd, 1947, the blond-coiffed professional wrestler known as Gorgeous George ascended into the ring of the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles, basking in the applause and jeers of…
On December 3rd, 1947, the blond-coiffed professional wrestler known as Gorgeous George ascended into the ring of the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles, basking in the applause and jeers of the massive crowd.
He was joined in the ring by his opponent, a six-foot-tall muscular black wrestler who went by the name of Reginald Siki, sometimes called The Panther. The instant the starting bell rang, George ran at Siki, took a flying leap and delivered a dropkick to his chin. Siki obligingly collapsed, ending the match after only 12 seconds. Gorgeous George’s path to fame accelerated, his telegenic theatrics a perfect match for the burgeoning age of television.
Siki would be dead within a year, a relative unknown today, yet far more deserving of recognition. Siki won numerous matches in this career, but due to the color of his skin his name was never entered in the record books.
Born Reginald Berry in Kansas City, Missouri in 1899, Siki was—according to a fascinating article in Slam magazine—among the most prominent Black athletes of his day, achieving fame largely in Eastern Europe where he could escape from the rampant racism of North America (in Canada the press once dubbed him “gorilla man”).
After performing for a stretch in Germany in the months leading up to World War II, Siki and his wife were arrested in 1942 and imprisoned in Tittmoning, a Medieval castle in Bavaria along with hundreds of Americans. Siki nearly starved to death. At one point, a fellow inmate, Max Brandel, drew a caricature of him which Siki inscribed with the words, “Let’s keep going.” Brandel became a contributor to MAD magazine (“What, me worry?”).
I learned the story of Siki when I met up with his great-great grandson, James Lott Jr., in Zoom-land recently to further my deep dive into the varied lives of grandpas.
James Lott Jr.
James, 55, has a detonation of black hair that expands out in all directions, a neatly trimmed white goatee, and a vibrant and friendly personality. He has a whole string of letters after his name—CTACC CDC LVN PMO OA DD—that speak to his thirst for learning. “I’m a chameleon of many sorts,” James said. I’d call that an understatement. James is the CEO and Founder of JLJ Media, the CEO and Founder of Super Organizer, certified as a professional organizer and life coach, holds a nursing degree and a PH.D., has done acting gigs on commercials and an episode of House (season four, episode four), has his own YouTube channel, and does a podcast called Really! I’m a Grandparent!. James, who’s single, lives in Englewood, California, and stays close to his many nearby grandchildren.
James started his career as a farm and agricultural insurance specialist, but during the recession of 2008 he had a major epiphany.
“I realized I hated my job,” James told me, “hated everything in the city, my kids were grown and I’d already become a grandfather. I decided to change my whole life.” He made a list of all the things he loved to do, “I like filing. I like organizing. I like people. I like media. I don’t mind speaking in front of people. So I talked about it with my grandfather’s sister, and she said, There’s a business in there. Entrepreneurship!”
James moved back to his family home in Los Angeles and started Super Organizer L.L.C., providing organizational services to a growing roster of clients that today includes movie stars.
He also followed his passion for video and podcasting, with a flair for being on camera, through his media enterprise. The media world is James’s version of the Forever Letter. “My grandkids know me as this person who talks to celebrities. When I die, they can just go online and see their grandfather.”
When I learned that James became a grandpa at the tender young age of 39, I said, “Wow, I thought I was young at 55 when my first grandchild was born. You were way ahead of me!”
“Here’s the deal,” James replied, “I started my podcast because I saw the face of grandparenting has changed. My show is for young grandparents. I come from a long line of them. I grew up with grandparents who still jogged and dated and were having kids.” When James told me this I tried, and failed, to imagine the grandparents in my life jogging. The only time I could see them moving that quickly was to run away from bears.
One of James’ grandfathers—Grandpa Bob— was an executive with Chase bank in Manhattan.
“He was young, a Rolling Stone,” James said, “dressed very sharp, smoked a cigar, totally New York, the whole thing.” James’ other grandfather was white and Dutch, a little older, with a white beard. “My two grandfathers were like chess pieces on opposite sides of the board.” One of James’s youthful grandmothers would start her day running ten miles and swimming five. She drove a sporty Karmann Ghia (my Gram, in her late 70s, drove a vintage pink Rambler, cheerfully oblivious to the concept of lanes).
Through his podcast, James has connected with all kinds of young grandparents. “I’m meeting more and more people in their 30s and 40s who are grandparents,” he said. “It’s no big deal in their lives. It’s like, ‘I had a daughter at 18, and she had a child at 18.” Being a single grandpa who’s active in the LA dating scene is also a different ballgame. “I never know when to bring it up,” James said. “Sometimes it comes out organically, like, What are you doing this weekend? I’m seeing my grandkids in Sacramento. It’s a mixed reaction.”
James also sees that many of today’s youthful grandfathers are playing a larger role in the lives of their grandkids.
“I always think it’s a generational thing; a lot of times the grandmother is seen as the nucleus of the family, but there are some good grandfathers out there who do run families. It’s part of my mission to share that.”
“The second thing for me,” James continued, “is the multiracial aspect. I have grandkids that look the spectrum from blond hair and freckles to brown.” During the period of civil unrest after the George Floyd killing, James had honest talks with his grandkids about the police based on his own negative experiences. The brown grandkids had a different talk than the blond ones. “But the Gen Z’s and Gen Alphas,” James said, “they’re actually not caught up in all that suff. We’re the ones caught up in it—we Boomers and Millennials. My grandkids have a set of friends whose parents were same-sex. Their first President was Black. So, their whole outlook is different.”
James has found there’s a generational shift in perspectives on work-life balance as well, with many young people choosing educational and career paths outside the norms pounded into us by our Greatest Generation parents.
“These kids are saying, you want to pay me $10 an hour to do that?” James said. “They’re questioning. Some are choosing trade schools instead of college. I was taught to work at a job until you’re 65 and then you retire and travel. I’m actually impressed with how much these kids don’t care about certain things that we’re holding on to. They just want to live their lives. They’re going to do it their way.”
This idea resonated with me—a lot—when I thought about it within the context of nurturing the next great generation.
Being fully accepting of differences and unconstrained by old-fashioned career paths seem all part of the same new vision. And these changes seem to be happening naturally as a result of the guidance and wisdom we gave our children when we were young parents. We—and I mean ‘we’ in the larger sense meaning so many parents everywhere—taught our kids to treat everyone the same. We also encouraged them to choose the career that would allow them to do what they loved, even if that meant making less money. By the time our kids left the house as young adults, we’d largely completed our job. And through that parenting—ours and James’s alike (and yours)—the newest generation is already greater in many ways than any that came before.
James summed it up best when he said, “They have the freedom to live a different life.”
This doesn’t mean we grandparents can’t continue to play a strong supportive role. We can help lead a discussion about generational greatness. And we will always be the elder Maple trees who’s leaves nurture the seedlings. We can be there for them. But we have to be careful not to preach to them like we know everything, because we don’t. Tom Brokaw said he learned more from his grandkids than they’ve learned from him. Wise words.
I saw this principle on glorious display on a warm July day a few years ago on the shores of Lake Willoughby, a place I will continue to return to in my upcoming book. All of our grandkids and their cousins where down at the beach with their parents and everyone was buzzing with excitement because we knew that this was the day that my cousin’s son, William, would become engaged to his boyfriend, Brendon. The plan was that Brendon would take William out on their vintage wooden motorboat and pop the question. The grandkids made signs of congratulations that they could hold up when the boat returned to the shore, and sure enough, an hour later as the boat approached—William and Brendon beaming—the grandkids jumped up and down on the dock with their signs, shouting “Yay!” and “Congratulations!” and “We love you!”
Nobody on the beach that day had to explain that William and Brendon were different, that they were gay.
Because they are, in fact, no different than any of us. They are simply a young couple in love, one that is today happily married.
Before James and I parted ways in Zoom-land, I asked him for his #1 piece of wisdom for the next great generation. He instantly said, “You can survive anything. Life isn’t fair. Life is tough. Life is wonderful. It’s all those things, three dimensional. I wish I could have told myself that when I was 18. Just don’t worry, James. You will go through a lot of stuff, but you will survive, and that’s what I tell my grandkids.”
Our ancestors continue to shape who we are now, through genetics and remembrance. When James talked about survival all I could picture was the greatest wrestler of the 20th century, the indomitable Reginald Siki, languishing in a German prison camp, so hungry he lay still to conserve energy, yet he smiled as he looked at the caricature drawn of him and wrote the words I will say to my loved ones any time our multidimensional lives get tough: “Let’s keep going.”
Author’s note: Be sure to check out James’s Really! I’m a Grandparent Podcast. James had me on his show, even though I’m not a young grandpa these days (thank you, James!). Also, if you or someone you know has a grandpa story to tell, please reach out to me at ted [at symbol here] GoodGrandpa dot com. I’m writing the Good Grandpa book for Regalo Press which will be distributed by Simon & Schuster in mid-to-late 2025.
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When I set out to write the Good Grandpa book, I went into the experience with ears and eyes wide open to whatever might come my way. I’d heard from…
When I set out to write the Good Grandpa book, I went into the experience with ears and eyes wide open to whatever might come my way.
I’d heard from historian and author Doris Kearns Goodwin that the right story for a book needs to find you, not the other way around. She explained that she set out to write the definitive biography of Abraham Lincoln, but as she learned more about the men who competed with Lincoln for the presidency a far more fascinating story emerged. The result was her extraordinary book, Team of Rivals.
Today I’m about half-way through my book journey—about 50,000 words—the result of many interviews with amazing grandpas from different walks of life (and waking up at 5am with lots of strong coffee as I tackle new chapters). This has been quite an experience.
The stories I’ve heard from grandpas have been extraordinary.
I’ve been deeply moved so many times, surprised by twists and turns, and found my own pathway as a grandpa illuminated by the wisdom that has been so generously shared with me.
Early on, I heard from legendary newsman Tom Brokaw that he believed every generation would have its own epic challenges to overcome, the kind of struggle that could forge our grandchildren to become the new greatest generation. The key was to learn from each challenge and become even stronger.
Tom Brokaw
I heard from John Cleese that it’s more important to find the truth than believe you know the truth, that sometimes absolute certainty can get in the way of learning.
Me with my comedy God, the great John Cleese.
I spoke with a grandfather who discovered the power of prayer to heal his cancer-stricken granddaughter, and in the process found his path back to God.
Eric Behr rediscovered his spirituality.
I met with a Muslim grandfather from India who sees our grandchildren as already the greatest generation of all time, bestowed with extraordinary gifts and opportunity, but in need of a greater sense of gratitude.
Recently, I spoke with three different grandpa Veterans, including a Vietnam combat Vet who shared a story that blew me away.
Gresh Lattimore, retired Navy Captain.
I have a long way to go before I finish, but I’ve definitely had an epiphany.
I set out on a mission to bring together stories and wisdom to help nurture the next great generation.
This purpose was grounded in the concept of changing our grandchildren and their future so they could live their best lives. What I’ve learned, however, is that I’m the one who has to change first. The youngest people in our growing family look up to me, and I must lead by example. There can be no pontificating.
Over the past 6 months, when I’ve questioned grandpas and probed for the essential wisdom they wished to impart to our grandchildren, I’ve heard the most powerful things. Many times before telling me their answers, these grandpas pause and then say, “I’m going to tell you something I wish someone had told me fifty years ago.”
I can’t wait to share these things with you when the book is published in the second half of 2025. All I can tell you now, without spoiling the happy ending, is that a pattern is emerging.
Stay tuned, and thank you for coming along with me on this journey. I’m very grateful. If you or someone you know has a story to share, please don’t hesitate to reach out.
Once upon a time in a land far away and long ago, my dad used to make up stories for us at bedtime. All his stories involved the same seven…
Once upon a time in a land far away and long ago, my dad used to make up stories for us at bedtime.
All his stories involved the same seven characters, Casper, Jasper, and five boys named Calvin, Charlie, Nick, John and Ted — me and my four older brothers. I recall loving the stories, but that’s all I remember because they were never written down.
When my two kids where little, I took a page from my dad’s dreamtime creative playbook and made up my own stories to tell them at bedtime. My kids remember loving the stories, but that’s all they remember because I never wrote them down.
These days, coming up with stories that feature my grandkids is as wonderful for me as it is for them, and maybe I’ve finally learned my lesson because I’ve started writing them down so they’ll never be lost.
My grandkids jump into bed and implore me, “Grandpa, tell us a story!”
Then—like the grandpa in The Princess Bride—I spin a tale of magical adventures. I’ll often pause in the middle of a story to offer up different branching pathways and give the grandkids a choice of which way to go, or ask them to create and vote on the best solution for beating the dragon, crossing the fiery swamp or outwitting the ogre.
Of course, it’s inevitable that they get so excited that going to sleep is impossible. I completely fail at the ‘get the kids calmed down’ concept and I’ve taken some heat for it. I beg forgiveness. Many years from now, my grandkids will never remember that they lost a few hours of sleep, but they will remember the stories I told them and the special time we had together.
These are Forever Stories, cut from the same cloth as Forever Letters but with a creative twist.
Here’s a recent tale:
Lucinda had been playing with her Teddy Bears—Henry, Charlie, Roen and Mae—for much of the afternoon on a green spring day in the little town of Oakdale, Connecticut, when she yawned very wide and said, “Oh goodness. It must be nap time.”
Lucinda’s mom, Fern, called up from downstairs just at that moment, “Lucinda! Time for your nap!”
Lucinda gave her bears a big hug and a kiss, and set them down side by side in the playroom. “Sleep tight, my fair princes,” she said. Lucinda’s mom tucked her into bed and soon the little girl fell into a deep sleep.
But in the playroom, things were just starting to wake up.
In the dimness, a small red light blinked on and a man’s voice crackled over a radio. “Calling all Teddy Bear Rescue Squads. Calling all Teddy Bear Rescue Squads. Can you read me?”
The Bears jumped to their feet and ran to the radio. Charlie pressed the red button and whispered, “Squad one reporting! I repeat, squad one reporting! Over.”
“Roger that, squad one!” said the voice. “We need you down at the playground immediately! A tiger has gotten loose from the zoo, and if he’s not put back in his cage who knows what could happen!”
“No problem!” said Henry. “We’re on it, Chief!”
“Let’s go!” piped up Roen, a girl bear.
“Let’s go!” chimed in Mae, Roen’s little sister, who was learning how to talk and often repeated whatever her sister said.
The bears had a quick meeting, trying to keep their Teddy Bear voices down. In case you’ve never heard a Teddy Bear talk, it’s a very high pitch, almost like hearing a baby ask for crackers or something. Use your imagination.
The question now was, should they take the Rescue Squad race car, the mini-jet, or the hot air balloon?
“This is my thinking,” said Charlie, “if we take the mini-jet we might get there faster but there’s no place to land at the playground. The racecar would be pretty fast, but if we take the hot air balloon we can bring the animal cage to put the tiger in. The cage won’t fit in the car.”
“Excellent idea!” said Henry, a little too loudly, apparently, for they suddenly heard footsteps in the hall getting closer to their door.
The bears jumped back to sit exactly where Lucinda had left them and sat very still, trying to make their glass eyes look blank, so that if Fern peaked in she wouldn’t suspect that they were real live bears with a secret mission in the Teddy Bear Rescue Squad.* They heard the footsteps stop just outside the door, as if Fern had stopped to listen, but then they moved on.
“Quick!” Henry whispered.
“Yea,” Charlie whispered back, “before anyone spots us!”
“’I’ll bring some blueberries!” said Roen, who always enjoyed snacks even during emergencies.
They grabbed the hot air balloon from the closet and hung it out the window, then used the air machine to pump hot air into the balloon, which quickly grew in size. Then they attached the red and blue striped basket to the bottom of the balloon with ropes, and below that they hung the animal cage.
Within minutes they were floating above the house and over the trees as the wind blew them towards the school playground.
Charlie used the spyglass to navigate. “Left, twenty degrees!” he ordered. “Good, now down a bit – WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!” They barely missed hitting the top of a big oak tree with its branches that seemed to reach out towards them like arms.
“Look!” Henry squeaked as he peered through the spyglass, “the tiger!”
“Let me see!” Charlie said, taking hold of the spyglass. “Wow!”
Roen had her turn, too. “That’s a big tiger!” she said when she saw the yellow and black striped beast pacing next to the swing set, its tail swishing side to side.
“That’s a big tiger!” Mae said.
Mrs. Moore, one of the teachers at the school, was perched on top of the swing set clutching the metal bar for dear life, staring down at the tiger pacing hungrily below.
The Squad arrived over the playground and hovered there as they worked out a plan. How would they get the tiger into the cage to save Mrs. Moore?
“I could blast it with my stun rocket,” Henry said.
“I could make it fall asleep by shooting it with an arrow tipped with sleeping powder!” said Charlie.
“Let’s cast a magic spell!” Roen said.
Mae stomped her feet and said, “I’ll kick it in the face!”
Everyone looked at Mae, wondering when she’d learned to say something like that and how the tiger would respond if kicked in the face by Mae’s little boot with its silver sparkles and a picture of Elsa from Disney’s Frozen.
All of these ideas could work, they decided, but were a bit risky.
Roen got out her blueberries to have a snack, offering a bowl of them to the rest. They munched the sweet blueberries for a minute, thinking hard to make the right decision. Then Roen had an epiphany, which is like an idea that pops into your head, “I’ll put my blueberries into the cage so the hungry tiger will go in and eat them. Then we’ll slam the door shut!”
Mae piped in, “Then we’ll slam the door shut!”
“Yes!” Henry said, pumping the air with his furry brown fist, “That’s how Grandpa Ted catches groundhogs. If it works for groundhogs, it’ll work for a tiger!”
“But do tigers eat blueberries?” asked Charlie.
“There’s only one way to find out!” Henry said.
“Find out!” Mae said.
Roen was lowered down on a rope towards the cage, which was hanging below the hot air balloon. Being as careful as possible, she attached a bag of blueberries to one side of the cage with tape. Henry and Charlie hauled her back up and she plopped down into the air balloon’s basket. “I’ve never done THAT before,” Roen said breathlessly.
“Well done, Roen!” Charlie and Henry said.
“Well done, Roen!” Mae said.
They positioned the hot air balloon directly over the tiger and—bit-by-bit—lowered the cage down to the playground. When Mrs. Moore saw them, her eyes filled with wonder because Teddy Bears flying around in balloons is not something you see every day.
The tiger looked up and growled, “Who is this who dares disturb my snack time?”
But when the tiger saw the cage and walked towards it, he grew curious. He walked into the cage slowly, further and further, sniffing the bag holding the blueberries.
The tiger growled, “Is it meat?”
“No,” said Roen.
“Is it cheese pizza?”
“No,” said Charlie.
The tiger licked the outside of the bag, curiously. “Is it candy?”
“Much better than candy!” said Henry.
“Much better than candy!” Mae said.
This is when Roen took out her ukulele and sang her blueberry song, “Blueberry, blueberry, bluuuuuuuue…..berry!”
The tiger could not resist. With one giant chomp he bit the whole bag of blueberries right off the back of the cage and chewed, a look of heavenly satisfaction spreading across his big cat face.
Quick as a wink Charlie pulled a rope that snapped that cage shut.
Oh, the tiger did not like being trapped one bit. He roared, blueberries clinging to his huge teeth as he bit the bars of the cage in vain. Mrs. Moore, however, was delighted. She jumped down off the swing set and looked up in gratitude as the balloon—now towing the furious tiger inside the cage—rose up into the sky.
“Who, er, what are you?” she called up to them.
“We’re the TEDDY BEAR RESCUE SQUAD!” they shouted.
Henry, Charlie, Roen and Mae flew over to the zoo and lowered the cage down inside, then fast as birds they fluttered their way back home, let the air out of the balloon and crawled back through a window. It was good they did, because just after they’d sat down in the pile of other toys, Fern (who thought she’d heard something) popped her head into the room. But all she saw was four Teddy Bears sitting absolutely still.
The Zoo was grateful to have a real tiger, something they’d always wanted. They set it loose in their African savanna area so it could roam around freely.
What the zookeepers could never figure out, though, was why the tiger never wanted to eat the bowls of red meat they put in his cage.
All the tiger would eat was fresh fruit, brought in by the truckload.
Over time, the zoo bought four more tigers to add to its collection. On any given day, though, you can easily tell which of them is the tiger that terrorized Mrs. Moore in the playground. It’s the one sitting, its belly stuffed, in a pile of banana peels and bits of blueberries, apples, oranges, grapes and mangos. On Thursdays he gets a special treat of pineapples, which he eats in one gulp. He never ate meat again. Kids visiting the zoo named him Fruity the Tiger. And that, oh my best beloved, is the end of the story.
It turns out lots of grandpas make up stories for their grandkids, and one in particular— Andre Renna, from Lancaster, Pennsylvania—took the idea to a whole new level.
Andre reached out to me through my blog and we had a great conversation in Zoom-land where I learned about his family roots and his storybook grandpa creations. Andre, 70, is a retired engineer and healthcare manager who grew up in a classic Italian-American family in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn.
“I had the greatest childhood in the world,” Andre told me, “My cousins lived in the house with me. We’d sit on the porch and watch the Mets on TV and have some expresso and sweet pastry. I’d walk to my grandmother’s house four blocks away.”
Andre’s dad was his hero, a solid presence in his life who worked multiple jobs to make sure there was always food on the table, with Italian feasts served up by his mom.
Andre had a close relationship with both his grandfather, a bricklayer, and his grandmother. “I inherited some of my grandfather’s tools— trowels, a hammer” Andre said, “those things are precious to me.”
Andre and his wife raised their two kids in Lancaster, and today they have two grandkids. His granddaughter, Aria, arrived on the scene first, launching a wonderful new chapter in Andre’s life. “She is without a doubt the light of my life,” Andre told me, “Everyone else is a close second. I have a beard because of Aria (Papa, grow a beard!).”
Andre’s #1 wisdom he wants to share with the next generation is to never break a promise. “Your word,” he said, “is the most important thing you have.”
When Aria was 18 months old, she won a stuffed yellow duck at a seaside boardwalk arcade. Aria’s Ducky became a much-loved companion that she carried everywhere — even into her imagination.
One day when Aria was 5, Andre was pushing her on the swing. “And she says, ‘I want to have a surprise birthday party for Ducky.’ And then she disappears because I’m pushing her and she’s still talking, right? We were on the swing for forty-five minutes, and she told me this whole story…”
“Everyone will be at the party,” Aria said, “Penguin, Turtle, Unicorn….”
WHOOSH!
“Flamingo, Snakey and T-Rex and….”
WHOOSH!
“But Jasmine the cat is going to ruin the party…”
WHOOSH!
“In the end Ducky will be OK because he knows we really love him.”
When they went inside, Andre excitedly told his wife the whole story. His wife told him, “Why don’t you write it as a book?” Andre replied, “What the heck do I know about writing a children’s book?”
“Just do it!”
When Andre related this, I was reminded—based on my personal experience—that the smartest thing we can do as grandpas is to listen to our wives.
Andre immediately went to work, embarking on a remarkable collaboration with Aria to create a new children’s book, The Adventures of Aria and Ducky: The Surprise Birthday Party, featuring a little girl named Aria and her menagerie of animals.
The Surprise Birthday Party, a collaboration between Andre and his granddaughter.
He started by simply writing down the story Aria had shared with him; she, along with Andre’s wife and sister, offered up suggestions and corrections to polish the draft. Andre then hired a professional illustrator, David Leonard, to bring the story to life.
For Andre and Aria, the smallest details mattered.
Aria would review the working drafts and say things like, “that doesn’t look like Ducky” or “Jasmine the cat is the wrong color.” Andre was diligent about making sure that the Aria character looked just like the Aria, from facial features to blond hair. “I said to the illustrator, it has to look like her because I want to be able to say, that’s my granddaughter. And in the future I want her to be able to show this to her kids and grandkids. I drove him nuts.” It was worth it.
Andre Renna shown here with his granddaughter, Aria, and Ducky.
When the book launched, Andre and Aria did their own promotional push, appearing on local TV stations and doing interviews for newspapers.
While Andre has sold numerous copies of the book, he’s found a bigger audience by donating copies to pediatric hospitals.
The genesis of the book, with characters based on toys and featuring real children, will have a familiar ring to students of classic children’s literature. Winnie-the-Pooh came about when English author A. A. Milne was inspired by a stuffed bear toy that he had bought for his son Christopher Robin.
But whether or not The Adventures of Aria and Ducky ever becomes well known doesn’t ultimately matter, and the same is true for The Teddy Bear Rescue Squad.
What does matter is that these stories have a chance to become classics in the lives of our families.
I think about the magic of storytelling a lot when I ponder what our grandkids will need in order to become the greatest generation. Many young children live in a world that’s rich with imagination. The couch cushions are their castle walls, a chopstick is Harry Potter’s magic wand. But somewhere along the line—perhaps when they are lined up in rigid rows at school—their flights of fancy become more grounded, their creativity stymied by the need to pass the next test. Yet the truth is that being creative throughout their entire lives may be the ultimate test, the best thing they can bring to their own families, and indeed to employers.
The World Economic Forum’s Future of Jobs Survey found that creative thinking skills are a top priority when considering talent.
Artificial Intelligence will eat a billion jobs, but the careers of genuinely creative people will be secure for all time.
If we follow the example of Andre and Aria, and A. A. Milne, the next generation will always have their secret forest to walk in, their Hundred Acre Wood, a place where wise owls talk, where the mysterious heffalump eludes even the best trackers, and our favorite bear devours pots of delicious honey. Ducky, Casper, Jasper, Christopher Robin, Calvin, Charlie, Nick, John and Ted will also live in the forest, plus my grandkids and yours, forever and ever.
And that, oh my best beloved, is the end of the story.
Note: If you’d like a signed copy of The Adventures of Aria and Ducky, contact Andre here: awrenna@comcast.net
*Just out of curiosity I recently Googled “Teddy Bear Rescue Squad” and discovered that a woman in England is crafting outfits for a Teddy Bear Rescue Squad. Small world!
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I was delighted to be a guest on the Retirement Wisdom Podcast, hosted by Joe Casey, who had me on to talk about the blog and my upcoming Good Grandpa…
I was delighted to be a guest on the Retirement Wisdom Podcast, hosted by Joe Casey, who had me on to talk about the blog and my upcoming Good Grandpa book. Joe asked great questions. Here’s a link to the show. If you’re retired, or thinking about it, you may want to check out Joe’s consulting practice. He works with people to help design their retirement thoughtfully so they can get the most out of it. I’m not yet close to retirement, but when I am I know I’ll be talking with Joe again.
When my wife, Nancy, was due to give birth to our daughter, Abigail, we’d packed our bags for the hospital and were ready to go when the contractions started. I…
When my wife, Nancy, was due to give birth to our daughter, Abigail, we’d packed our bags for the hospital and were ready to go when the contractions started. I remember that feeling, the quickening of my heart, the excitement of heading into the experience as if it were a class four white water rapid, thinking I was ready but fearing I might not be – who could ever know?
This time, it was a call from Abigail that told me she was going into labor.
I’d just had a relaxing glass of Scotch and was watching TV. When I picked up the phone I expected a casual check-in call, but it was a different story. Abigail and her husband, Ryan, were at the hospital already. Contractions were steady. And because the baby was breach, there would be a C-section. In two hours. The rush of emotion and excitement all came back to me as if it were Abigail being born and not my grandson. I told Abigail I’d be driving down as soon as possible.
Nancy, at this time, was on a business trip, and I knew she’d be in a bit of a panic. I didn’t want her to feel badly for not being there, and was resolved to keep my calm and reassure her as well as my daughter that things were under control. Nothing, of course, is ever “under control.” When birth is involved, I knew from experience it was a joyous cavalcade of bodily fluids and wailing baby cries and slimy poop and the uncertainty of wondering if there would be the right number of fingers and toes, and the billion other concerns that overwhelm even the best prepared mom, dad, or grandparent. You take a deep breath, keep moving, and hope to God things will work out.
I slept fitfully between texts from Ryan and Nancy. At 2:30 am I received the text I had been hoping and praying for: Mother and baby are happy and healthy. His name was Henry. I sat on the edge of my bed and wept. Thank you, God, I said. Thank you.
I hit the road at 3:30am for New York City, guzzling hot coffee in the darkness and light rain on the Mass Pike, and arrived at New York Presbyterian hospital on the upper East Side around 8:00. Abigail’s hospital room was quiet when I entered, save for the tiny murmuring of a baby, my grandson. The floor to ceiling hospital curtain surrounding Abigail’s bed felt to me like the curtain in The Wizard of Oz, pulled back to reveal the old man feverishly tugging at levers, only now it was Abigail in the bed holding Henry, smiling up at me, Ryan grinning in a fatherly way beside them, and I was the old man.
Meeting your own child for the first time is amazing. Meeting your grandchild is similarly exhilarating, magical and joyous. And yet there’s something more to it, another layer.
The hard work of raising Abigail right, nurturing and loving her, making sure she grew up in a nice town with great schools. Sending her to the college of her choice (George Washington, not coincidentally in the same city where Ryan – her high school sweetheart – was attending Georgetown). Celebrating her wedding on a beautiful old farm in Vermont with friends and family there to support her. All of these things formed a kind of foundation for her life that she could then build upon. And even though I could not see all these things at that moment when I held Henry for the first time, I was aware of them and felt the love and effort of all that parenting as if it had been somehow condensed in time, right at the moment I saw this wonderful and handsome baby, Henry, my grandson.
Me with my first grandchild, Henry, hours after he was born.
I held him in the crook of my arm and made no effort to stop the tears from streaming down my face. I whispered to him as much as to myself, “Hi Henry.” He was so light and small. Deeply asleep. Content.
After I’d visited them for a while, I went back to Abigail’s apartment on West 74th street and slept for a few hours. When I called Abigail to say I was heading back to the hospital, she asked me to bring the diaper bag, and the Boppy — a large horseshoe shaped pillow women use when breastfeeding. Trekking across Central Park with a diaper bag and a Boppy is a singular experience that’s hard for me to describe. Part of me felt like I was a new dad, like this was just—quite literally—another walk in the park for me. I saw young parents with kids in strollers along the meandering verdant walkways, and they’d cast knowing glances at me with my Boppy as if it was a totem of my fatherhood.
I considered blurting out to strangers, “I’m not actually a new dad! The Boppy is for my grandson!” But I didn’t. I reveled in the illusion instead.
When I arrived at the hospital room with the Boppy, Ryan and Abigail giggled at the sight of six foot six tall me holding it, with its multicolored illustrations of giraffes and elephants. Ryan looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Boppy. Maybe you’re Boppy.”
For months all my friends had asked me what I wanted my grandfather name to be. Grandpa? Pops? Gramps? I said I wasn’t sure, and didn’t know if it was actually up to me. When Ryan suggested that perhaps I was Boppy, it struck me that Henry and I had both been newly named at the same time. Both born into new lives, Henry launched into childhood, me ascending to newly minted grandfatherhood. I felt that my whole life was ahead of me.
That was ten years ago. What’s become clearer with each passing year is that my whole life was actually ahead of me—not an entirely new life of course—but a very different one, so different that I am not the same guy I was before.
In that long ago life when I was a parent, small things could make me angry, my emotional trigger ready to fire at dumb things like bad drivers. Having time to hold a baby grandchild in the quiet of the night and hear nothing but the sound of our breathing put the petty annoyances of life in perspective. Reading my grandchildren the same books we used to read our children, like Goodnight Moon and The Cat in the Hat, felt like rediscovering magic. I could use the word “joy” without irony. The often angry world still exists but somehow I’m floating above it. I’ve been admitted to the best club in the world, one so exclusive no amount of money can buy it. As you’ll see if you read my book (coming out in 2025 from Regalo Press), I’ve interviewed rich and famous grandpas, but most are regular Joes like me, and we are all on the same level playing field.
As Henry grew he was joined by a brother, then two cousins, both girls, and my name in time changed from Bobby to Grandpa Ted.
They could call me anything and I’d be happy with it, because this is the new Ted, not the old Ted, which is ironic given that I’m getting older. I’m not alone in this sentiment. Many grandfathers become deeply changed for the better, as if we’ve emerged from a chrysalis to become something freer, lighter, happier. We are the ones who walk across Central Park with a smile on our faces, carrying within us a newly found contentment. We’re the retired four-star generals sitting on the floor with their granddaughters playing with Barbies. We’re putting on our reading glasses to help find the missing LEGO piece, and while we may have grey hair (or, in my case, no hair) we are boys again.
It’s a new experience, yet it’s not all new. There are still diapers. But we all have our roles to play in this new landscape. When I’m with one of our grandbabies and a particularly pungent aroma fills the room, I’ve been known to say to my son or daughter, while making my exit, “I think someone needs changing.”
Author’s note: If you’re a grandpa, you are more than welcome to post a comment here to share your experience of the day your first grandchild was born. How did your life change?
In the early hours of May 1, 2023, a single engine Cessna 206 crashed like a meteor into a remote jungle of the Columbian Amazon. On board was…
In the early hours of May 1, 2023, a single engine Cessna 206 crashed like a meteor into a remote jungle of the Columbian Amazon.
The plane carrying the family crashed in a part of the Amazon that had never been explored.
On board was a mother and her four children, aged 13, nine, four and one; the pilot and one other adult died instantly, the mother likely lived just long enough to warn her kids to get out. The children crawled through the wreckage into a part of the Amazon that had not yet been explored, a place so wild it could have been a different planet. They were in “a very dark, very dense jungle,” explained indigenous expert Alex Rufino, “where the largest trees in the region are.” News reports of the crash described the area as .”(1) This description dramatically understates the extent of the danger these children faced, alone.
Take the snakes, for example. The amazon is home to the Anaconda, a behemoth that can weigh up to 500 pounds and grow to 29 feet long. It wraps around its prey then swallows it whole. Then there’s the Bushmaster snake, which is only about 12 feet long but is incredibly poisonous and capable of multi-bite strikes, followed by the Amazonian Palm Viper, the Fer-De-Lance, and last but not least the South American Rattlesnake.
If by chance the children were not poisoned by snakes, they’d have to contend with the Black Caiman alligator, one of the largest predators in the Amazon basin. It can grow to be over 16 feet long.
The kids could also come into contact with a Poison Dart Frog, which has a skin so toxic that merely touching it can cause paralysis and death.
More unpleasantries awaited if the children went into a body of water, which in the Amazon can be inhabited by sharp-toothed Piranhas, and Electric Eels—a fish that can send out a 600-volt shock powerful enough to incapacitate an adult. Then of course there is the Potamotrygon Stingray, the Bull Shark and the dreaded Candiru — known as the Vampire Fish due its ability to lodge in its victim’s genital track where it feeds on blood.
If the hungry children ate the fruit of the Strychonos Plant, which resembles clementines, they would ingest a juice used for making poisonous arrows.
But why worry about treacherous snakes, insects, fish and fauna when there are Jaguars nearby, a predator that can reach speeds of 50 miles per hour?
If you followed news of the crash, you may already know that 40 days later the children were found alive. There are many heroes who can take credit for their miraculous survival, but the one who caught my attention was the children’s grandmother, María Fátima Valencia, who raised them from a young age and taught them the ways of the jungle. Members of the indigenous Huitoto people, they knew to avoid the poisonous fruit of the Strychonos Plant and instead hunt for the Avichure tree—known as the milk tree—and chew its sugar-rich seeds, or the oily fruit of the Bacabapalm. They knew how to get drinking water while avoiding Piranhas. And do their best to hide from lurking Jaguars.
When military helicopter crews hunted for the children, flying low over the thick green jungle canopy, they broadcast a message recorded by María: “I’m your grandmother! I ask you a favor: You need to keep still because they are looking for you, the army!” If there was a prize for 2023’s Badass Grandma of the Year, María would have won it hands down.
Here in the United States, we don’t have an Amazon jungle, but we do have Amazon — the most efficient way to buy and receive boatloads of crap the world has ever seen.
I don’t mean to pick on the good folks at Amazon here (I’m a customer and a stockholder, and appreciate the cat litter they delivered last week, same day no less). I’m simply using Amazon to illustrate the world of modern products that pose as improvements, yet hidden within them are dangers as venomous to our grandchildren as Yellow-Bearded Vipers. When I speak to grandpas about what they fear most when they think about our grandkids’ future, the top bogy man is technology. Internet media, kids’ faces glued to screens, and the rise of artificial intelligence are the new jungle, and there is no indigenous guide to teach survival skills.
If we journey into our Amazon, here’s just a few examples of the pestiferous things families can order today.
For $264.99 we can buy a Galaxy A25 5G A Series Smart Phone with 128GM, an AMOLED Display, Advanced Triple Camera System, Expandable Storage and Stereo speakers. Forty-two percent of U.S. children have a phone like this at the age of 10. By age 14 that number jumps to over 90 percent.(2) This is not surprising given that children beg their parents for smart phones as if they were candy. The phones themselves may not be yummy, but what kids consume with them certainly is. Watching internet media releases dopamine into the brain’s pleasure centers—the same chemical released by eating delicious food or snorting cocaine.(3) And the more our grandkids eat up this media, the worse off they are. Scientists have found that there is correlation between how much time kids spend on social media and how depressed they are.(4)
In addition, there’s evidence from a UCLA study that shows that the increased use of smart phones and the resulting lesser time spent for face-to-face interaction leads to the decline in social skills among kids.(5)
If Smart Phones were alcohol or some other drug they’d be illegal for minors. Yet parents often give their kids smart phones to make them happy, or to mark a passage into adulthood like a Middle School graduation present, without fully understanding the creatures hidden inside complex circuits and Internet algorithms. Imagine a parent from the Huitoto indigenous community giving their kid a Tityus Scorpion, only worse. At least the scorpion is self-evidently dangerous so the kid wouldn’t try to play with it. But kids interact with their smart phones all the time without any hint of danger. The average teenager spends nine hours a day looking at screens.(6) Young kids have less screen time but may be at higher risk. Toddlers who spend more than two hours a day in front of screens have an increased chance of delayed speech development.(7)
Search Amazon for laptop computers and you’ll get an amazing deal on the 2024 Chromebook for students and businesses ($299 with one day Prime delivery). What parent wouldn’t want their young scholar to have the very best technology in hand when they go off to college Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work that way.
Just like phones, laptops and the media they serve up can be incredibly distracting.
Students type notes in lectures on their laptops or do their homework, but frequently jump away to check the latest Facebook/X/Instagram/Tik-Tok postings, which totally messes with their mental focus. Teens may claim they are good at multitasking, but scientists have demonstrated that people in general are simply not hardwired for it.(8) It takes about 20 minutes after being interrupted before mental focus is regained.(9) A study conducted at Harvard University found that just being near another student who is multitasking on a laptop during class results in poorer grades.(10)
Setting aside the hazards of media and distraction, excessive amounts of screen time is bad for eye health.
Most digital screens emit high amounts of blue light, creating what scientists refer to as the Blue Light Hazard (BLH), which can harm the retinal cells in the eye.(11) Children’s eyes are still developing, making them likely more susceptible to retinal damage from blue light. More than 65 percent of blue light is transmitted to the retinas of young children. At age 25, those numbers change to between 20 and 50 percent, depending on the specific wavelength of the light.(12) New types of non-emissive screens made with E Ink ePaper provide a much healthier screen time alternative, but few people are aware of it.
Artificial Intelligence (AI) is a whole different beast.
I’d read about all the buzz and decided to try it out, enlisting the help of Google’s Gemini to write a blog post about being a grandfather. Technically, Gemini is a conversational generative artificial intelligence chatbot. But Google calls it, “Your creative and helpful collaborator to supercharge your imagination, boost productivity, and bring ideas to life.” Based on what it wrote for me, I’d agree it supercharges my imagination, although not in the way Google may have intended. I was astonished that Gemini did reasonably well, instantly crafting sentences such as…
“Being a Grandfather: The Best Job in the World. Being a grandfather is one of the most rewarding experiences in life. It’s a chance to relive your own childhood through the eyes of your grandchildren, and to pass on your love, wisdom, and experience to the next generation.”
The more I read, the more it became clearer to me that Gemini’s AI algorithm was pulling ideas from my own Good Grandpa blog. All AI programs are designed to do this. What they “write” is not original per se, but rather in instant conglomeration of the most relevant stuff on the Internet. The following sentence from Gemini is basically digital plagiarism — not a word-for-word rip-off but pretty damn close:
“Being a grandfather is more than just fun. It’s also a great responsibility. You have the opportunity to make a real difference in your grandchildren’s lives. You can help them to learn and grow, and to become the best people they can be.”
In 1950, a British cybernetics pioneer named Alan Turing developed what he called The Imitation Game, known today as the Turing Test. The test was designed to determine a machine’s ability to exhibit intelligent behavior equivalent to, or indistinguishable from, we humans. The Turing Test is more relevant today than ever as AI chatbots proliferate. How can we tell if an AI program is writing or speaking, or if it’s a real person?
For my Good Grandpa blog post, Gemini failed the Turing Test in glaring and hilarious fashion with this sentence: “If you’re thinking about becoming a grandfather, I encourage you to go for it.”
From Gemini’s perspective, we have total control over when we’re going to become grandparents, like it’s deciding if we’re going to join a gym or taking up knitting. Running with this idea, here’s an imaginary father/daughter conversation.
A phone rings. A young lady answers.
“Hi dad!”
“Hi, honey, how are you and Peter doing?”
“Good, good. Busy. How are you and mom?”
“We’re great. Planning a trip to Albuquerque in the spring.”
“Nice.”
“Oh, and one other thing. I’ve decided to become a grandfather!”
Pause. Silence.
“I see, well, that would be wonderful, someday.”
“I’m thinking now, actually.”
“But Peter and I aren’t ready to have children! We’re going to do some traveling first and…”
“Sweetie, you’ve been married for five years and it’s time to start procreating. Mom and I aren’t getting any younger.”
It’s a sure thing that AI capabilities will rapidly improve, but based on its automatic notions of total control I can only hope that future iterations will never be given access to the nuclear launch codes.
I would be remiss if I didn’t give a shout out to my least favorite modern technology of all, now available on Amazon with free delivery right to your yard — the leaf blower (such as the Husqvarna’s 125B Gas-Powered Leaf blower for only $196.00!). If products could go to hell, there’d be a special circle in the inferno for these deeply annoying machines. Quiet fall days are a thing of the past. More often than not there are multiple leaf blowers whining incessantly like an off-key monotonous chorus of monks. Many people will say that leaf blowers are a necessary evil. But if we add up enough small but necessary evils, it amounts to an incalculable loss for our grandchildren.
Here’s my point. We grandparents grew up in an analog world and it’s up to us to let our children and grandchildren know that new technology isn’t a de facto improvement, and often it represents a giant leap backwards. A few years ago, I was touring an exhibit on industrial design at a museum in New York City when I came upon the same stereo turntable I had in college in 1978 (this was the moment I realized that I myself was an antique, but hopefully one that could still make beautiful music). Lots of people still prefer the warm sonic depth of vinyl records over the digitally cold Spotify vibe. Instagram has filters that let you make your pictures look like Polaroids from 1970. I worked for Polaroid and I can assure you that my SX-70 took way better pictures—with richer and more painterly hues—plus the picture popped out of the front of the camera so you could save it in an album or stick it on the fridge.
Most pictures taken with smart phones ultimately get lost in a digital ephemera, including those of our grandkids; shouldn’t we hold on to the pictures just as tightly as we hold them?
Today, as technology advances with growing speed, I don’t think we should fear it. To quote Frank Herbert’s classic Dune science fiction series, “Fear is the mind killer.” We simply have to get educated on technology’s hidden dangers in order to protect and nurture those we love. If we’re going to help our grandchildren become the greatest generation, we need to be the voices of experience and wisdom broadcast from the helicopter flying over our Amazon —
“We’re your grandparents! We ask you a favor: Turn off your smart phone! Close your laptop! Be social with your friends face-to-face instead of on Facebook! Stay focused on your homework so you can gain Actual Intelligence (AI) instead of the artificial kind! We love you! Now, grab a rake!”
Sources:
BBC
Forbes Health
The Guardian
Child Mind Institute
The Healthsite.com
Common Sense Media
Pediatric Academic Societies
Mayer and Moreno
Society for Human Resources Management (SHRM).
Technology and Student Distraction, Harvard University Derek Bok Center for Teaching and Learning.
Blue Light Phototoxicity Toward Human Corneal and Conjunctival Epithelial Cells in Basil and Hyperosmolar Conditions, Marek V., et al. Free Radic. Biol. Med. 2018, 126:27-40.
Light-emitting diodes (LED) for domestic lighting: Any risks for the eye? F. Behar-Cohen, C. Martinsons, et al., Progress in Retinal and Eye Research 2011.
