Michael Milligan - Grandpa Rules: Notes on the Worlds Greatest Job

Y es, you. Because if youre reading this, odds are that youre already a grandfather. Or shuffling your way toward becoming one.

Its also likely that youre a member of the wonderful American generation whose mantra was Think Young! Well forty years later, we can think whatever we want; but the truth is that weve got more hard miles on us than a 64 Corvair.

And were leaking oil just as fast.

Where did the years go? What happened to the age of Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll?

I think I know. We spent a lot of time raising our children and warning them not to do what we didmost of which we never came close to doing, because if we had, wed likely be deceased, incarcerated, or living on a Maui mountaintop with my high school friend, Boomer, as he awaits the return of the Lizard King.

And while we were busy with parenting and work, somehow our lives went from Howdy Doody to jury duty.

From McCarthy hearings to hard-of-hearing.

From hi-fi to Wi-Fi.

And though it may hit you like an Ali forearm shiver, its time to accept that youre actually old enough to be someones grandfather . But how can that be? You dreamed of staying young forever!

Sadly, all of our dreams do not come true. If they did, there would be no more death. There would be no more hunger. There would be no more Michael Bolton albums.

Since becoming a grandfather, Ive found it to be unbelievably fulfilling. But I never thought Id actually look like a grandfather. And the first time I had to face that, it was about as fulfilling as a very special episode of My Mother the Car .

It happened while my wife, Jill, and I were visiting our grandchildren out of town and attending our five-year-old granddaughters soccer game. Now I dont know about you, but when I was growing up in the fifties and sixties, soccer was not the hugely popular sport it is today, even in Los Angeles. And it certainly wasnt played on manicured suburban fields by perfectly-uniformed, cute granddaughters named Samantha. Rather, it was played on rough-hewn, bottle-strewn lots by prematurely mature fifteen-year-olds with names like Rico and Alfredo who sported moustaches, sleeveless T-shirts, and exotic-looking girlfriendsall of whom were certainly more physically blessed than any of the girls in my tenth grade class.

Except for maybe Joanie Beroni, who had already flunked two grades and who, in three years, would be skating with roller derbys New Jersey Devils.

But back to my granddaughters game. As I stood on the sidelines with parents of her teammates, a pleasant, outgoing young mother of one of the girls approached and introduced herself.

Hi, she said perkily. Im Christmass mom.

Christmas , I said, trying to hide my amusement. What a nice name.

Yes! she chirped. We named her after the most wonderful day of the year.

If I had done that, my oldest sons name would be July Twelfth , whichat the age of thirty-onewas the date he finally moved out of the house and into his own apartment.

Nice to meet you, I said. Im Samanthas grandfather.

Like any deluded fifty-five-year-old man who looks in the mirror and sees a thirty-five-year-old stud, I anticipated what would happen next. When Mrs. Christmas heard that I was a grandfather, she would quite likely faint. When she came to, her eyes would grow wide with admiration as she checked out my perfectly understated hoop earring and my slightly grayingyet stylishly shaggyhair.

Her grandfather ? shed say. Youre kidding! You dont look old enough to be Samis grandfather. Her older brother, sure. Or maybe even an uncle. But grandfather? No way!

So totally way! Id respond, proving that I was as youthful as I looked.

So imagine my shock when Mrs. Christmas didnt come close to fainting or tweak my earring or even blink an eye. Instead, she turned to her husband, who was sitting nearby, eating a veggie wrap. Adam, she barked, this is Samis grandfather. Get up and give him your chair. He wont be able to stand for the whole game.

And that was that.

To this suddenly irritating young woman, it was crystal clear that I was old enough to be someones grandfather.

Later, when I learned that this incredibly insensitive soccer mom was thirty, I wanted to run up to her and say, Thirty? Let me tell you something, Mrs. Christmas lady: You look at least thirty-two and a hard thirty-two at that! I got ten bucks that says by the time youre fifty, youll be sagging so badly that youll try to sue the city for building the sidewalk too close to your breasts!

All in all, I think I took it pretty well.

I tossed and turned in bed that night, and Jill sensed something was not right. Whats bothering you? she asked.