Saving the best for last

The picture that adorns my blog is cropped. What you don't see explains the joyful look on my face. I am an amateur photographer (which is another way of saying I have a sneaky way of not appearing in any pictures) so there are not many photos of me around. Off to the left, is one of my two grandchildren. We are having one of those moments that only a grandfather and grandson can have.

When the first of these two children (19 months apart) entered my life, the church family looked at me kind of funny. Well, that is an understatement. I was microscopically examined by every person who entered the building. They wanted to see how I had changed. I made the mistake of saying from the pulpit, "I was born a fuddy-duddy and am still a fuddy-duddy and will die a fuddy-duddy." I am happy to report to you that in 15 years of preaching: morning, evening, and Wednesday nights, these are the only words the church family remembers--and yes, it has come back to haunt me. Grandchildren have called me out of fuddy-duddydom.

Last Father's Day, my whole clan gathered from the far flung reaches of the country. It was the best Father's Day ever. All three children, families, and girlfriend (not mine, Joe's) were present. In our modest home, we had to made adjustments so I offered our bedroom to the oldest since his family of four was the largest tribe in the house. My wife and I went to the small guest room with the "three day bed" in it. I call it the three day bed, because after three days on that bed, our guests are usually ready to leave. This was also the first family gathering since we had our whole sewer system replaced after it gave up the ghost. We had nursed it along for 14 of the 15 years we have lived in the house but one day, it said "no more," and sure enough, "no more" of anything went down the sewer. So this was a great test for us all.

What I didn't know as I turned over my cherished private space to my oldest son and his wife and two children is the youngest had already gotten the nickname "The Pillager." At two years old he is the most amazing multi-tasker I have ever seen. He can watch a movie, check out a shelf and all its trinkets while talking at the same time. He is a bundle of delightful energy who winds down very slowly.

But he does wind down. His older brother is much quieter, and I suspicion when "TP" gets on his nerves, he just hits him upside the head with a model car. "TP" not only has unbounding energy, he has a voice that can empty a small village.

So the first night passes with my enlarged brood under my roof, and it felt so good.

Morning comes and my oldest son finally opens the bedroom door and stumbles out into the hall looking for coffee. I ask how things went during the night and if everyone got a good night's sleep. Tim said, "Well, we got them to sleep and then about midnight Noah woke us up because he had wet his bed. We got up, cleaned up the mess, cleaned up Noah, and brought him to bed with us. An hour later, Connor woke us up. He had wet his bed. So we did the same drill a second time. And finally had them all together asleep in your bed, when they both wet your bed. Sorry Dad!

That "Sorry Dad!" was deep, sincere, and heartfelt. In my quirky mind, I thought it was a hoot. I could see Tim scrubbing up after each accident saying, "Mandie, what am I going to tell Dad, first we ruin his carpet, then we ruin his bed. He is going to be so mad! I guess the best thing to do is just confess right up front." And so he did.

Now the fuddy-duddy in me would have huffed and puffed and blown the house away complete with soiled carpets and all. But I am a grandfather and a pretty darn happy grandfather.

What popped out of my mouth was as much as a surprise to me as it was to my son, "Well son, I think that is wonderful, my grandchildren are marking their territory!"

It is one of those moments when a child looks at his father and does not recognize the man before him. I call it a "Roswell moment--as in what alien has taken over the body of my dad?"

Tim has many more of these moments to experience. I guess if I were playing fair, I would warn him in advance, but the look on his face is just too priceless to miss.

You see, his dad has left the kingdom of fuddy-duddydom for the land of pre-paradise.