I’ve often said there’s nothing better than playing with my Grands. And I bet most grandparents would agree that time alone with a grandchild is as good as life gets. But this week, I ate those words and they were delicious.
My youngest little Grand is 19 months old. Full of energy and a happy, busy little boy. He loves to play with balls. Any kind or shape or size. So last week when I visited him and his parents, my Grand and I played ball. We rolled a small rubber basketball across the carpeted floor. “Show Gran how you can shoot a basket,” his mother said. With more encouragement, he threw the ball through the goal that’s at his stretch-high-as-he-can fingertip level. “Good job!” I clapped and cheered. My Grand and I tossed the balls toward each other and sometimes we caught them. But we rarely shot baskets.
For three days while my Grand’s mother ran errands and did household chores, he and I played. We pushed red and yellow and green plastic balls through the openings of a drum that had perfect round circles in matching colors. We hid those plastic balls under stacking cups and we built a tower, six cups tall, and then knocked it down. There’s something funny about watching plastic cups and balls bounce across the floor.
We played farm with a Fisher Price barn and silo and animals. We made animals sounds – baa, moo, neigh. We pushed and pulled every lever to hear recorded barnyard noises. My Grand hid all the animals in the silo and squealed when I found them. We lined up toy cars and tractors on a table, and he rolled them along my outstretched leg. And we laughed – out loud – when a car wrecked.
And I read to him. He piled books from his book basket onto the seat of the wing back chair where I sat. Little Blue Leads the Way. From Head to Toe. Where is Baby’s Belly Button? My Grand turned his back toward me so I could lift him onto my lap. He flipped pages and jabbered; I read and hugged. Yes, as good as life gets.
Then my Grand’s daddy came home from an out-of-town business trip. As soon as he heard the garage door go up, he ran to the back door and waited for Daddy to walk into the house. Daddy lifted my Grand high into the air and gave him a two-arm hug before setting him on the floor. My Grand ran to the playroom, found the small basketball, clutched it tightly, and stood in front of the basketball goal. When Daddy walked into the room, my Grand threw the ball, hitting nothing but net. “Way to go!” Daddy said as he sat on the floor by the goal. “Gen!” my Grand shouted. And he shot the ball through the goal again and again and again. And Daddy gave him a high-five him after every shot.
I watched. A lump in my throat. Wet eyes. Full heart. What’s better that playing with my Grand? Watching my son play with his son.
Filed under: Family, Grandchildren | Tagged: Children, Grandchildren, Grandparents, playing basketball | Leave a comment »
Susan Writes 