Only Custom Made Equipment for the Parson's Grandchildren

Ring! Ring!

“Hello.”

“Well, hello, yourself. How in the world are you doing?” I immediately recognized the voice. It belonged to one of the other grandparents, you know the type of grandparent of which I speak. It was the mother of my child’s spouse. She means well but in playing the role of really great grandparent some have it and some have less than it.

“I’m really doing well. How about you?”

“I’m doing good. You know it was such a treat to have the kids come visit from Connecticut. Gracious, I don’t know about you, but I don’t seem to realize how much I miss them until they are ready to go back. And those children, those precious grandkids, aren’t they absolutely wonderful?

“They are that. And that younger one sure got your looks.”

“My, my, aren’t you the complimentary one. And I know you’re being gracious, but thanks for making an old woman feel good.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I said.

At this point I was getting a little anxious as to what this phone call was about. Look, it may not be the best feature of our society, but the truth is the daughter’s mother doesn’t make phone calls to the husband’s father just for the purpose of swapping platitudes. And yet, like my son, I am a Southern gentleman. I let the conversation continue.

“Could you believe the way the younger one has grown?” she asked.

I informed her that I couldn’t believe it either. And then just to trump her I said, “Well, I think the older one is certainly proving himself to be smarter than his parents.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she responded.

There was a pause in the conversation. I definitely got the impression she was mulling over what to say next. I waited. As I’ve intimated above the conversations between the two of us have been sparse during the ten years of our children’s marriage. They were usually confined to coordination of who would pick up or take to the airport whom.

“The grandchildren really seemed to have had a great time at your house.” she said.

“I thought they did, too,” I responded. “They were nonstop the whole time they were here.”

“I know. It wasn’t ten minutes after you dropped them off at our house than they were sound asleep in the den. They really got worn out. You really keep them active.”

“I enjoy the time with them,” I said, wondering where this conversation was going.

There was a pause. Then she spoke again. “You know, the kids said you have the best slide they’ve ever been on.”

“Did they? That’s nice to know. They did seem to have a good time playing on it.”

“Do you mind my asking where you bought it?” she asked. Then she added, “I’d like to get one for our house.”

Now in this life some secrets need not be shared. “Actually, I can’t,” I said. “It was custom made for them.”

“You had a slide custom made for your grandchildren?”

“I did.”

There was another long pause before she said, “Well, I just wanted to thank you for dropping them off.”

I told her it was no problem. She hung up. I was grateful for the call. It reminded me to go out in the front yard and retrieve the cardboard box the kids had been using to slide down the bank that is my front yard.

Comments

[willy]

I remember cookie pans were great for sliding down the ice/snow covered driveway.

[Dan Gmyrek]

My favorite toy as a kid was an appliance box, either 'frige or washer. One day it would be a sub, another day a space capsule. Cardboard + imagination = fun!