Danmancle's Blog

Just a walk. His tiny little hand in mine, squeezing my finger.

He lets me pretend I am the one leading the way.

He smiles and chatters as he watches his little boots high step over the spots of ice on the path.

He talks as if we were two old friends sharing stories on an afternoon walk. I have no idea what he is telling me- maybe just explaining how nice it is to be with Grandma and Grandpa for a few days.

Everything is a doggie, and everything is blue. How beautifully simple the world is through his eyes.

It’s just a walk… but one I hope will never end.

It was so quiet. Just sitting in the kitchen this morning was so quiet. I could hear the pages of the newspaper turn as I read at the island in the kitchen. I had to get ready for my flight back to Kentucky for work. I heard an odd noise in the corner by the window. Turned out to be the timer for some Christmas lights. That’s how quiet it was.

The past few days however, had been filled with lots of sound, lots of noise. Three toddlers, a puppy, and 8 adults had turned the house into a free for all daycare, game room, and cafeteria for the Holiday. The new “playroom” on the main floor was ground zero. Adults would take turns as monitor to make sure the current child, dog, or group was having fun, safe, and not bleeding. When things would get anxious due to a missed nap or late lunch Curious George, Peppa Pig, Frosty or Rudolph came to the rescue. Who knew that pigs spoke with a British accent?

How wonderful to be able to have all the children and all the Grandchildren all in one place at one time. It may never happen again. Yes it was wonderful. There were times that I would cringe at a blood curdling scream, or the quiet pause after a “thud” just waiting for the soon to be cry for momma or dada or daddy depending on which toddler took the plunge. I am working on my patience for high pitched screams. My total adoration, affection and love for these minions could never be overshadowed by my occasional grumpy grandpa look. They are little piles of clay being molded every day into persons. The transformation is the joy of life. I cherish every second of being part of that process. To hear a word spoken for the first time. To be present for a first experience of any kind by a little one. These are the moments that form their lives, and our best memories. I don’t mind that I am called gramma or bubble a million times a day – these little people can call me anything they want.

But now it was quiet. Everyone had left, all back to their normal homes and daily routines. Almost like it never happened. The several bags of trash and dozens of dirty diapers, piles of towels, an overlooked worn out sippy cup, empty wine and beer bottles are clear signs that there was life here – but now it is just a memory. The very best memory of the very best time.

There has been lots of talk lately about the new phenomenon called “binge watching” of television shows. People will get all comfy and watch hours of a program all at one sitting. I don’t know what all the fuss is about – I started binge watching Ding Dong School with Miss Francis 62 years ago. As Romulus and Remus were raised by wolves (true story), I was raised by a peacock – the NBC peacock to be exact. It was my first pet. I also learned the alphabet at a very early age watching TV – NBC, ABC, CBS and some other letters.

Having grandchildren, we have heard discussions about nannies. I had 2 marvelous nannies – their names were RCA and Westinghouse. At a very early age – like birth- I was most often dropped in front of a television set for most of the day – that was my day care, preschool, and babysitter. My parents were too young to know what to do; my mother had neither the aptitude nor finances so between fights, separations, and divorce I was shuffled between parents and grandparents. All of which left me to my own devices and I became friends with all my TV land buddies. I had great motor skill development changing channels. I could spend hours and hours watching TV. All the great shows and movies of the 50’s were my best friends. It was not just an escape, it was more like sanctuary. The Lone Ranger, Kit Carson, Sky King, Jim Bowie (not David), Hopalong Cassidy, the Cisco Kid, Mighty Mouse… these were my friends. They would not hurt me, or abandon me, or insult me, or ignore me. This was my play group, my paci, my binky.

I became quite the loner. I presume it did not affect my social skills when I was older or any ability to interact with others, but until I had step brothers enter my life I had very little interaction with other kids. Just me and my celluloid buddies. I sang along, knew all the characters, and anticipated their next move – it was great. My wife, Peg, jokes that I am a TV whore – that I will watch any TV show or movie about anything at any time. I will watch the same episode many times and not care. She was raised in an idyllic Leave it to Beaver family where they probably read books, had family outings and structure. Whoa, they probably even ate their meals sitting at a table together. I however was tutored by The Three Stooges and The Little Rascals – “I wish Cotton was a monkey”. Is she better off because of it? Probably more grounded and more well rounded, but I however saw where Johnny Weissmuller led the Elephants to the Elephant burial ground! Hey – where is the remote?

I just spent the weekend sharing time with 2 little brothers. One is my little bro and the other is my wife’s little bro. If either of these great guys were to meet me as strangers we would probably never have even a brief conversation. The fact we are bros “by law” puts in a relationship that provides the opportunity to also be friends. It is complicated but most families have the same “relative” situation. My “step” daughter (I use step only to make a point – not as differential) casually remarks that she is 1) an only child, 2) the oldest child, and 3) the youngest child in her family, which is absolutely true depending on which Brady Bunch branch you choose.

Having grandchildren has prompted a greater desire for me to make the family tree chart that is usually a middle school social studies assignment that often brings surprises. My tree however has two trunks: one trunk that has my birth family ancestry and one trunk that has my adopted namesake hierarchy. By law I was adopted, but by my recollection I was subscribed to a new last name. I simply was instructed that my name should be changed because “that’s what people round here know you by”. That was a true statement, but it was an odd legal occurrence being a teenager. So I too am an only child yet have 3 brothers and 3 sisters. The adjectives half and step are commonly used to differentiate.

Don’t get me wrong in interpreting my comments. I love my brothers dearly and they are truly my brothers. We fought the good fight together in a crazy unstable dysfunctional childhood. We had great adventures together and were blood brothers in every way. We would fight battles against each other but no one would dare come between us. Getting together with my little bro this weekend brought great feelings of “brotherhood” along with nasty tinges of guilt for staying aloof for too many years. We really don’t have anything in common except the common enemy which is a memory of lost time, and all the crack pot stupid boy things we used to do as kids. The childhood time we spent together was “the best of times, the worst of times” but it was our time together. No one can separate us from that period in our lives, nor do I wish they could, knowing how much that shaped our lives to come as we had our own families. I was an ass of a brother, but they loved me – crazy stuff, and I will always love them.

Now as for my wife’s little bro….

Those were the words his mother, our daughter, spoke concerning the little man’s play date with his two cousins. Considering he is only 17 months old – the bar was set.

The 3 cousins got together for a couple hours and it was heaven. To see them running, jumping, crawling, laughing and playing was pure joy. When two would squeal, then the third had to join in – no matter if there was a reason. 30 seconds was probably the maximum attention span for an item, but there was so much to do, so many toys and books and endless attention from parents and grandparents. Who knew 3 little rug rats could create so much energy at one time. This was worth waiting 64 years to experience.

Knowing I won’t be around in another 64 years reveals a generational dichotomy. These moments create some of the best memories of my life, and conversely, these little people will have no memory of the day. It causes us to cherish the moment for itself, as that will be its own reward. That, and the gazillion photos taken.

I am glad I had children at a young enough age to be part of their lives through to the grandparenting phase. It truly creates a strong desire to be well enough to see as much of the grandchildren’s life stages as possible. Hopefully with smart choices and healthy living I can stay to a point where they too have memories of grandpa rather than just old photos .

In the mean time, every chance to play princess, or pirates, or read a book, or chase a ball, play peek-a-boo, push a swing or just take a walk with a tiny hand in mine will be another Best Day of My Life too.

As soon as I showed up at the front gate, I was handed the little man.  “Here, take him while I finish this…” his mom said to my surprise.  The little man was in my arms – how will he react as soon as his mom walks away – cry? pout? throw a fit? – he quickly grabbed my beard and smiled.  He knew Grandpa had him.  He then looked at me with a look that said “Hey Grandpa – so do you think you are ready for this?”  So the night began.

I was asked to babysit for the evening.   Yes, me – no Grandma (she was back in NC)- just a solo grandpa. I was up to the task, or so I thought.

There must be a prize, you know like they have at a county fair for chasing and catching a greased pig, or maybe the one where you run around trying to catch a chicken, or a slippery frog.  Surely holding a one year old boy for 10 minutes without putting him down deserves a blue ribbon-arms and legs flopping and kicking – constantly turning and moving.  I just had to hold him a couple more minutes until his mom gave me my next instructions.   Hold him meant hold him – I was under specific orders.  Of course he had other ideas, and clearly being kept still was not one of them.  He didn’t cry, he was fine and knew my role in this game.  He just wanted down – Now!

My babysitting tasks were finally enumerated.   Play time, jammies, bottle, story time, songs, then to bed.  “Goodnight” his mom said, then out the door.  Piece of cake, right?  Actually it was, after all – we were buds!

We played for over 30 minutes – that’s 8 hours in grandpa time!  I guess we played.  I spent most of the time keeping him from falling as he crawled to the play table, got up on the chair, climbed up on the table and climbed up on the window sill to bang on the window at the people below on the street.  Then down and start over, then down and start over, then down and start over…

He does not like getting his jammies on – why would he?  It means lying still for 20 seconds – and he let me know that this was not part of the routine he cared about.  It was like trying to change a flat tire while the car is moving.

Bottle time is easy since he really doesn’t do bottles much anymore.  So it was simply throw the bottle on the ground and watch Grandpa pick it up, and repeat…

The most amazing portion of the proceedings came at story time.  He loves books and sat still through 6 book readings, pointing and turning pages, wanting to repeat pages.  Of course it was just his ploy to stay up longer I’m sure.  Of course he did not like the singing portion, either because I sound terrible or it means it is the final step to sleep time.  And there it was – time to go to sleep.  What  should I expect? This is the apex of babysitting – putting the child down – here we go…

He really did not cry but a few minutes but instead decided to talk to his sleep toys for quite awhile. He knew I would not come in and rescue him if he cried – we had that “discussion” while we were playing.  Watching him in the baby monitor is cool but kinda creepy.  Finally he was asleep, and I could take a breath.  Mission accomplished, no one was hurt, I will be allowed to come back!

Later in the evening Mom and Dad came home (I prayed they would) and I got my usual grandparent babysitting payment – $0.  But I did get my blue ribbon prize – his name is Ardy.

For 2 of the past 2 ½ years I have worked in NY and lived in or near one of the 5 boroughs. I have lived in Rockland County, Brooklyn, Long Island, and soon back to Brooklyn. I have driven over almost every bridge to Manhattan from the Tappan Zee to the North to The Verrazano to the South; driven up and down both sides of Manhattan, the BQE, the LIE, and everything in between. The Metro North, the LIRR, and the NY subway systems are good friends. I have almost become a New Yorker. The head Teamster at one of my jobs in Brooklyn called me “Brooklyn Danny”. Who am I to dispute one of “dos guyz” ?

What have I learned being Brooklyn Danny?

Driving!! Driving across Brooklyn every day for months has helped me develop high speed reactions – not for my driving skills but my quick response hand gestures.

Language skills have also developed rapidly as I have driven across Brooklyn. Driving Atlantic Avenue a couple hours every day is like having a free Rosetta Stone course for vulgarities. Hand gestures and language skills are useful when constantly driving over pot holes the size of Volkswagens.

Parking!! Actually there is NO parking in Brooklyn. It is an urban legend that there are spaces for parking. People will drive around for nearly an hour to find a spot. Parallel parking is a cross between demolition derby and ballet. IF you finally find a spot and try to park, there is literally less than a foot on either end to fit in. It is an admirable skill one develops.

Finding an apt in Brooklyn Heights where I stay turned into an amazing good fortune. Considering I had no idea of the neighborhood when I began the apartment search, it turned out to be unbelievably special. Just a short few minute walk to the end of my little street (Pineapple) is the most breathtaking view. The Brooklyn Promenade is here where you can see Governors Island, the Statue of Liberty, lower Manhattan, the World Trade Center, Brooklyn Bridge, and Empire State building without ever moving. Every citizen should see this vista.

What do we love the most about living in Brooklyn?? We live less than a 15 minute walk to the 2 most adorable granddaughters ever, and a 15 minute straphanger ride to see the little man, the cutest grandson ever. They make the best part of being Brooklyn Danny.

So if you want to come visit, we can see the most beautiful sight in New York. But if you want me to drive you anywhere, Fuhgeddaboudit!!

“Salagadoola”…
With all the talk lately about the royal baby, and kings, and princes, I just could not get excited. I guess the reason was that I spent the whole day two Sundays ago with a real Princess. I’m sure she was real cause she told me so. From the first good morning smile with a “hi grandpa” attached, to the final “goodnight grandpa smile,” I was surely in the Magic Kingdom. Right after getting the Princess dressed and having our breakfast, it was full on 110 percent “princessing.”

“Mechicka boola”….
After breakfast I was told to get out the princess dress, well it was actually – “I want a dress from my room” to which I asked, which one? The purple one- of course. Her Abby Cadabby dress always serves as the Princess dress. – I should have known that right? “ I need my glass slippers too Grandpa.” Where are they I asked”. In the box with the shoes” said the Princess. Duh, I thought. Her purple jelly shoes were her glass slippers – like I was supposed to know that too. “ I need them so we can dance, Grandpa”. Could this day get any better? And dance we did – more like hopping – but I will take a hoppy dance with my almost 3 year old granddaughter, or should I say Princess, any day.

“Bibbidi”…
“ I need my Magic wand Grandpa,” There it was – on the mantel where it stays for safe keeping. A long wooden handled magic wand with a star at the end – just like a magic wand is supposed to be. “Here is a magic wand for you Grandpa” as she handed me a plastic tube from the toy box. After we spent a few minutes walking around the living room pointing our magic wands and saying “poof” at everything, I was told that I had been holding my magic wand upside down. ”How silly of me not to notice” I said. No wonder I couldn’t make the toy horse come alive!

“Bobbidi”…
We walked around all over the place “poofing, and pointing” and I started singing the Cinderelly song that I knew from my ancient childhood. I had a yellow vinyl 45 RPM copy growing up. The look on her face had such a smile when she heard me singing – how does he know that song?– she must have thought – it was priceless. It was just the same later that day when I sang along with her on that always requested karaoke hit – the ABC song.

“Boo”…
We had such a great morning playing Princess – well I was playing. Then we threw My Little Ponys through the play barn roof – oh maybe about a kajillion times. At one point I almost broke the spell. I said No to something the Princess wanted. Her constant smile disappeared, a slight frown began, followed by an almost tear, and a slight quivering lip. “Did I say No? I’m sorry, I meant to say yes, of course yes. The smile was back. I should have known better! Who can fight the power of a Princess? Of course I knew better, her mother was a Princess, her aunt was a Princess. I had faced the power of the Princess before and lost, why should I think I would win now. In fact her mother was in the hospital giving birth to yet another Princess – which was how I got the 24 hour Princess duty. My future is full of Princesses.

“Put ‘em together and what have you got”…
We went to the park, after which she had a good nap, then a good lunch. We watched Toy Story 2 (she even told me when to skip the scary part), played games, and watched episodes of Super Why. She had to help me find the hidden letters. Once, I tried to sneak a peek at golf for a minute to which the Princess said, “I don’t want to watch golf, Grandpa.” They never change.

“Bibbidi-Bobbidi Bibbidi-Bobbidi Bibbidi-Bobbidi Boo”
After dinner, I got her all ready for bed. She then wanted to play her flute and sing for me. It was wonderful. Together we had to have one more round of the ABC song. She said she missed her Mommy, but knew she was at the doctor along with Daddy. Soon she would have a baby sister. “Goodnight Grandpa” she said and waved goodnight as I turned out the light and closed her door.
The Princess is asleep, the magic wand is back on the mantel, and the glass slippers are back in the box of shoes. The day is done, but the magic will live in my heart forever.

I had a nice international walk through Grand Central Terminal the other day.  International in that I met and conversed with men from all over the world – enjoyable, poignant conversations about family, events, with lots of genuine content – life affirming stuff:

“Of course I saw that;  So sorry man;  oh you too huh?;  What were you thinking?;  Good job;  Waz up?; good for you;  That’s too bad;  Hey, how ya doin?;  wow, that looks good;  That must really hurt; Unbelievable;  Cute kid;  How did you do that?;  Whoa;  Cowabunga;  That’s just unreal;  Yeah that really stinks Bro; not a chance”.

A day with many conversations without a single word spoken – no matter what language – all simply from the very effective use of the man nod!

Women just don’t get it.  They want all this continuous conversation to say the same thing that can be accomplished with a nod.  They will go on and on and back and forth and sideways discussing the same thing a hundred different ways.  I mean every conversation should not need a thesaurus.

Of course I can speak.  I can be articulate.  I have been known to put together a few sentences when required. I have even been known to provide an eloquent speech now and again.  I can even use adjectives and adverbs –used a pronoun once-  just to impress when needed.

The point is to be as brief and to the point as one can be and conserve energy at the same time.  It’s possible it could help with global warming too.  Why ruin a good conversation with all those words when a good nod with a raised eyebrow on occasion will suffice.

Women start the trend early on.  I was with my granddaughter the other day and she was being quiet and shy and pointing a lot.  Her mother, my daughter, kept telling her to “use your words”.   And the words will never stop.

I think that Peg thought that I was using the man nod to the extreme on our first date.  I was not exactly spouting eloquently that evening.  I blame it on stage fright.  I must have had a few words slip out however since I did manage to get a second date.  She was probably curious to see if I could actually put together a string of words, make a complete sentence or to hear what language I spoke.

Yesterday I came out of the subway and walked into a little shoe and watch repair shop just inside the lobby of what was the old St. George Hotel, now the entrance to the 2,3 line. It was run by an older Russian man who barely spoke English, which did not matter. I simply held up my broken watch band, nodded when he held up replacements, nodded when he pointed out how much to pay, paid for the work , smiled and said goodbye with a nod and – voila – got a new watch band, and made a new friend without a single word.

Life is good – just a smile and a nod.

Well, he finally arrived.   Holy Moly he was worth the wait.

The Little Man, as I like to call him, arrived after many, many long hard hours of labor, concern, and procedures required. The little bugger was stubborn. The Mother was exhausted, overjoyed and relieved.  The Father was so proud and was actually the solid caregiver that held it all together.

Holding my new born daughters was life changing.  Holding my first grandchild, a granddaughter, was mind numbing, ecstatic. Holding The Little Man was surreal.

Holding a new child in your arms is spiritual in a way.  You are called upon at that moment to protect, secure, shield, and nourish a new human being.  It is like nothing else you can experience.  I was so happy that he went to sleep in my arms, as I had expected, and stayed comfortable and asleep cradled in my rocking embrace. Wow what a feeling!  Of course it kept my reputation in tact of being a “baby whisperer.”  Actually, I think infants do well in my “holding” because I tend to give off a lot of body heat (I don’t sweat) and the warmth I generate makes them feel comforted.  Now my secret is out.  I always do well with children.  It is a gift, one that I will use every chance I am given.

The Little Man is simply just that – a tiny little man.  He can’t focus yet, I know, but holding him and having him look up at me was so inspiring.  Of course he was thinking what a cool guy this old Grandpa is staring down at him.

Honestly he won’t have a clue who I am for years, and undoubtedly I will have little impact on his life other than holidays or reunions, but conversely as we grow older, our children, and subsequently their children, impact our lives exponentially for what years we have remaining.  It is a joyful partnership.

So welcome Little Man – you don’t know me, but someday you will know how much it meant to me to have you cradled in my arms – and you will always be loved. You will make your parents proud, not because of what you will ever accomplish, but because you changed their lives forever.

Love, Grandpa