Tag: grandfather

Posted in children, grandparenting

The sandbox

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Ostap Senyuk on Unsplash

“Grandpa, can you open up the sandbox?”

Now that’s a great idea. And then my three-year-old granddaughter added, “And can you make a volcano?”

“Of course,” I answered. I tilted the wooden sandbox lid up and leaned it against a nearby tree, not sure what I would find inside. I think it’s been six months since I’ve had the cover off. Who knows what I’ll find inside?

The sand was surprisingly clean. I raked out a few pine needles and we were ready to go. The dogs were the first to start digging around in the sand. They were convinced a lizard or frog was in there somewhere. They were probably right, but we didn’t find either that day.

The two older granddaughters (ages five and three) began peppering me with questions.

  • “Can you find us something to sit on?” (I brought out a few step stools.)
  • “Do you have any shovels?” (I got out the bag of sand toys, filled with buckets, shovels, and castle molds.)
  • “Where are you going to sit, Grandpa?” (I just plop down in the sand.)
  • “Why are you in bare feet, Grandpa?” (It’s Florida; I’m often in bare feet. But the girls like to wear socks.)
  • “Can you make a mountain?” (I started shoveling sand in to a big pile in the center of the sandbox.)

The littlest granddaughter, making her sandbox debut, quickly discovered that sand doesn’t taste good. I put her back in the grass with a few toys.

We’ve had a five-by-five foot sand box in our backyard for years. I wondered, “Who came up with the idea of a sandbox? Who invented this?”

The first “sandbox” in America was just a pile of sand in a church yard so children had a safe place to play in Boston’s North End in the late 1800’s. They borrowed the idea from Germany, where Berlin’s kindergarten students had “sand gardens” to play in around the city.

As a child, family vacations to the Jersey shore meant lots of time playing on the beach, digging holes and building castles in the sand. Sand is a medium with infinite possibilities. It is easy to dig, pile, shape, rake, plow, and mold. Add a little water and you can create “dribble” towers of sand or castle moats. If you don’t like what you’ve created, it’s easy to start over.

So why not have a backyard beach, bordered by four pressure treated boards and filled with many bags of play sand? Every mountain I make is quickly crushed by stomping feet. Buried stones become precious gems to mine in the depths of the sandbox. Dribble castles reach higher and higher till they dry out and collapse. Wet dog noses are covered in sand. Time passes quickly in the sandbox. Before you know it, it’s time to wash up for lunch or dinner.

I’ve yet to outgrow the sandbox. When the grandkids are here, that’s where you’ll find me.

Posted in birthday

Of course I’m going down the birthday water slide!

Posted on by William Douthwaite

As we pulled up to my daughter’s house, I saw the biggest inflatable water slide I’d ever seen in a yard. They had rented a twenty-foot double slide for my grandson’s ninth birthday party. It was really cool.

Each of my grandson’s friends broke into a huge smile as they arrived, shedding their t-shirt and flip flops to scramble up the ladder to the top of the slide. Laughter and splashes filled the air as about twenty kids climbed up and slid down over and over again. Every once in a while, one or two would take a break to grab a slice of pizza, rip open a bag of chips, or (believe it or not) dip a carrot into some dip. After a quick refuel, they were back at it.

Suddenly, everyone ran across the driveway to the other side of the yard, ready for a baseball game. Inflatable bats hit plastic balls all over the yard as runners rounded the bases. Five minutes later, everyone headed back for more water slide fun.

I wore my bathing suit to the party, just in case. Maybe, just maybe, I would get to hurl myself down the slide into the pool of water at the bottom. But I waited, sitting with parents and other grandparents in the shade. Did anyone else wear a bathing suit? Maybe, but I wasn’t sure.

After a few hours, some families began to say goodbye and head home. The hoard dwindled to a few cousins and neighbors, and I saw my chance. As I took off my t-shirt, my grandson said, “You’re coming in? Alright!”

As I scrambled up the ladder, the grandsons were challenging me to a race. Before I even sat at the top of a slide, they yelled, “Three, two, one, go!” I lost every race except the ones where I yelled, “Go!” And then they all said, “You cheated!” Too bad, so sad. Life is tough. Get used to it.

I was the only grown up to go up the ladder and down the slide. I loved every descent, laughing the whole way down. It’s not easy being the big kid, though. But you better make sure no one is there at the bottom. Once you commit, there’s no way to slow down.

When people ask me, “So what are you doing in retirement?” I’m going to start answering, “Water slides!”

Posted in family, grandparenting, Life

The Thanksgiving scavenger hunt

Posted on by William Douthwaite

It wasn’t a game for these two. My five-year-old grandson and nearly five-year-old granddaughter took my Thanksgiving scavenger hunt seriously. With the picture list in hand, they were focused on the quest. No item would be left unfound.

This year’s scavenger hunt pictures

I started the scavenger hunt a few family gatherings ago to keep the kids busy while the grownups talked and ate appetizers before supper. (We celebrated our Thanksgiving the Sunday before this year, so that all the families could be with their other families.) These two grandchildren are still “pre-readers,” with a few sight words in their quiver. So I make a page of pictures of things to find in our home.

I originally set up the scavenger hunt for all four grandchildren who would be present, but the two-year-old and the eight-year-old weren’t interested. I collected four of everything on the page and “hid” them at preschool eye-level in our living room. I painted the yellow happy face rocks and folded the paper boats. Everything else was off the shelf in our home. A few things were in drawers, but the rest were in plain sight. I warned my wife ahead of time: “If you see anything unusual lying around the house, it’s for the scavenger hunt.”

Interestingly, they began by opening side table drawers and various cabinets. They quickly found a few that way. I had to give them some hints for the others. “Look by the television.” “Check by the front door.” “Did you look up high and down low?” “Oh, look, over there by the window – what’s that?”

The hunt kept them busy for a full fifteen minutes, which is a lot of time for a preschooler. They worked like a team on a mission. And were they ever proud when the found the twelfth item! They put many of their finds in the nine-ounce plastic cup, gathering up the extra quarters no one else wanted, and planned to take them home.

I also put together a clue-driven treasure hunt the eight-year-old. Each clue sent him in search of the next, hidden in a different place in the house. I thought I my clues were clever, but he reported, “It was easy.” Okay. Next time, we level up.

I think I have more fun preparing the scavenger hunt than the grandkids who take on the challenge! It’s a classic win-win. Keeps us all busy for a while.

Posted in grandfather, grandparenting, Life

A remarkable find: the skeleton of a dead lizard

Posted on by William Douthwaite

“There’s something in here!”

My four-year-old grandson decided to get into the ball basket on our porch. He still fits, but just barely. To fit, he had to toss out each ball, and work his way to the bottom of the 2×2 foot basket.

He threw out fuzzy snowballs from some Christmas in the past. Plastic baseballs we used to hit in the yard. Pimple balls – inflatable balls covered with little bumps. Various colored balls that every grandchild played with as babies. Balls that light up when you bounce them on the ground. A couple of soccer balls we kick around the backyard. A little basketball with dog teeth marks in it. Little balls that roll down chutes.

He unearthed Andy and Annie (from Toy Story). And “something.” He was almost at the bottom of the basket when he came upon something he couldn’t identify.

I went over to see what he had found. It was awesome. It was the dried skeletal remains of a lizard.

Yes, this is awesome on many levels.

First, it means that the lizard who had been living on our porch, who we could never catch or expel for the porch, was an ex-lizard.

Second, just look at this guy. You can see his whole skeleton. LIttle boys and grandpas get a lot of joy from skeletons, lizard, dinosaur, or human.

Third, he’s dried and preserved. We could take him home and keep him along with other treasures we’ve accumulated. We’ll put him on a shelf or in a drawer. Mom will never find out.

Have you ever gone to a museum or a science center to see the dinosaur skeletons? They are huge, awesome, and memorable. On a smaller scale, we have our own dinosaur-esque bones. We can start our own museum or road-side attraction!

I think this is one of the reasons grandfathers are so important. Moms will scream, “Get that thing out of here. Now go wash your hands!” Grandmothers will call for grandfathers to take care of the skeletal invaders. Dads will say, “Go ask your mom if you can keep it.” But grandpa (aka moi) will come up with all kinds of cool reasons why you should take it home and keep it.

Posted in kingdom moment

A kingdom moment: at the rail with my grandson

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Our Redeemer Lutheran Church and School, Dallas, TX

(This post is about one of those occasional moments when, as I seek his kingdom, I experience a kingdom moment!)

When you’re a pastor, you don’t get to sit in the pew very often. My call means I am up front, in the chancel and in the pulpit, thinking about dozens of things other than worship. Like the sermon. Or the attendance. Or the temperature of the room. The faces I don’t recognize. Or those arriving late. Or those who aren’t there.

But when I recently visited my son and his family in Dallas, I got to worship at his church and I didn’t have to worry about any of those things. I sat in the pew with my wife, my granddaughter and grandson, and my son’s in-laws. Nothing to remember, nothing to worry about. Just an hour immersed in the means of grace.

After the offerings, my grandson made his way over to my side and my wife, said, “He wants to go to communion with you.” Now that is very cool. When the usher nodded to us, his small hand took mine and we made our way forward to the communion rail.

It was definitely a kingdom moment. Jesus said, “Let the children come to me.” Though his two-year-old mind wasn’t able to fully comprehend what was happening, I wondered what was going through his mind as we knelt together at the communion rail. What are they eating and drinking? Why can’t I have some? This is a special place. And that’s my dad up there!

In that moment, I wasn’t much different than him. I’m a child of God, too. I might understand more of what’s going on, but it’s still a mystery to me how my risen and ascended Lord can be physically here for me in some bread and wine. All I can do is take his word for it, and indulge in this moment of grace. This is a special place. And that’s my son, the pastor, giving his dad the sacrament and his son a blessing.

Times have changed. I never got to go to the rail until I had been confirmed as a teenager. My mom and dad usually communed separately, one staying behind to keep an eye on my brother and sister and I, not trusting us to sit there alone. They were wise.

The older I get and the more kneel at the altar, the more I understand what a powerful moment this is. In fact, I just want to stay there, like Peter and James and John on the mount of Transfiguration. But it all over in a moment, and we are back in our seats, resuming our wiggling, snacking, coloring, and whatever. But here I am, five days later, and that moment still sticks in my mind, brings a smile to my face and can never be taken from me.

If the little ones at the rail bring a smile to my face, can you imagine God’s smile?

Posted in family, grandfather

Grandpa Golcher

Posted on by William Douthwaite

three guysThis is one of the few pictures I have of my dad, grandfather (my mom’s dad) and myself.  I think I am about three years old here. How many pictures will my grandchildren have with their grandfathers? Hundreds and hundreds.

Grandpa Julius Golcher is somewhat of an enigma. When a friend who knew his way around genealogy attempted to do a family tree on my mom’s side, he could go no further back than Julius’ parents in Costa Rica. Which is interesting, because we were always told he was from Argentina.

As you can see from the picture, he wore one of those old wired hearing aids. He worked as a machinist in Philadelphia, but was placed in the Philadelphia State Hospital at Byberry at some point, suffering from a form of Parkinson’s disease attributed to the Spanish influenza epidemic of the early 20th century.

I do remember that he primarily spoke Spanish, which means that there must be a compelling story of how he met his wife Mary Fox, my mom’s mom. She immigrated from England and worked as a nanny in Philadelphia, which is interesting because we were always told she was a governess, but census records tell a different story. Ancestry on her side only goes back as far as a lighthouse somewhere along the North Sea. (There are too many “Mary Foxes” from that time frame to know which branch of the tree to follow.) She came to America with two sisters, Peg and Elsie. I knew her much better, and will write about her in a future post.

Somehow that unlikely couple got together and had three daughters, but I’m not sure there is anyone left who knows that story. They raised their family in a row home on Rosalie Street in the Olney section of northeast Philadelphia.

Me with grandpa golcher
Here we are in NE Phila when I was 15 months old.

That’s all I’ve got on Grandpa Golcher. But I am pretty sure that my brother and sister and I all got our thick heads of hair from him.

 

Posted in Life

More reflections on being a grandfather (part 2)

Posted on by William Douthwaite

10400646_10153411674873460_5093416171899200828_nEight months ago, I jotted down a few thoughts about being a grandfather. It’s time to share some more reflections.

Eden is 1-1/2 years old; Elijah is about 8-1/2 months.I got to see Eden between Christmas and New Years while she and her parents visited, and I see Elijah several times a week since he lives nearby. Eden is running around, Elijah’s learned how to crawl (kind of). She’s grown quite a head of hair; he’s only sporting some peach fuzz.

The best part of a visit with them is when they see me, recognize me, and break into a big smile. That moment makes the rest of the day, no matter how good or bad, seem unimportant. When Elijah sees me at church, he either gives me the “Grandpa, what are you doing here?” look, or a quick, silly, “Ha!”

The second-best part is making them laugh. And I know just how to do it. Having ticklish whiskers helps, but I also know what silly sounds will get the belly laughs going, the wonderful sound of unrestrained squeals and giggles.

And how about little naked people scooting around the house before bath time? That never gets old and always makes me laugh!

Those are some more of my favorite grandfather things.

Posted in Life

Reflections on being a grandfather (so far)

Posted on by William Douthwaite
I’ve got two grandchildren now. My first, Eden, was born last summer. Number two, Elijah, is just a few weeks old. A week or so ago, these cousins met for the first time and this seems like a good time to reflect upon my experience of being a grandfather.

First, there’s little that compares with holding newborn life. Small, helpless, trusting, miraculous are just a few adjectives that come to mind. Tears and laughter erupt in their presence. They grow so fast you find yourself watching each minute to see how they’ve changed. The memories of my own children’s births are vivid once again.

As I take them in my arms, I remember exactly what to do. Immediately I cuddle, rock and sway. A diaper change is followed by a quick swaddle before lifting them up on my shoulder. Without thinking I’m singing songs, imitating their sounds, and giving them a tour of the world.

Suddenly, my children have become husbands and wives, and dads and moms. They still call me Dad and my wife Mom, but we call them “Dad” and “Mom,” too. But no one is confused.

Life is so simple when all you have to worry about is eating, sleeping and getting your diaper changed. All you have to do is cry a little, and someone – or everyone – comes to attend to your needs.