Conrad Boyce is the editor and publisher of the Cosmos. He has a BA in English from the University of Alberta and a diploma in journalism from Grant Macewan Community College in Edmonton. He lived and worked in the Yukon and Vancouver Island before arriving in Ontario in 1995. Beyond these pages, he is the Artistic Director of OnStage Uxbridge, and the technical manager of the Uxbridge Music Hall.
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Grampy's Day
Apparently this coming Sunday is Grandparents’ Day, although it’s not noted as such on any of the many colourful calendars that adorn my office walls, even though they make mention of a great number of special days that I have also never celebrated, such as Yom Kippur or Kwanzaa.
Nevertheless, I feel that Grandma and Grandpa do richly deserve to have their own day, as much perhaps as Mother or Father deserve their day. And I hope that Grandparents’ Day is broad enough to include a few step-grandparents, too.
Because although I am known as Grampy to one particular three-year-old (and soon, I’m hopeful, to his little brother), I can’t help but feel the occasional twinge of guilt that I came by this honour without having any of my own children first.
Step-children, yes, but the youngest step-child I ever lived with for any time (and played any role in her upbringing) was already 16 when I came on the scene.
So what qualifications do I have for being “Grampy” to a three-year-old, let alone a toddler or a newborn? Nothing but love, I guess, and sometimes a child’s wondering way of looking at the world.
At any rate, whether or not I deserve it, I am blessed to share a few precious hours every month with my step-daughter’s two boys: Declan, who just turned three, and Callum, who was born this past May 24. And I feel I got an early Grampy’s Day present on the Labour Day weekend, because Grammy and I were invited to spend the holiday at her sister’s family cottage in Muskoka with not just Declan and Callum and their Mom, but their big brother Mitchell as well. Mitch, 15, is technically their half-brother, but he lives with them full-time now, so he’s become a great big brother indeed. Mitch enjoys Declan so much, he even talks likes him.
So we all had three and a half days together, to just enjoy the sunshine and the full moon on the lake, and the boat rides and the bonfire that Uncle Larry built on the last night.
As Grampy (the boys actually have three sets of grandparents, in Mitchell’s case four, but we’re fortunate to live the closest), I got to watch the boys with fascination. Mitchell did a lot of what I did (reading curled up on the couch) or would have done if I could (playing video games) when I was his age. Callum did a lot of cooing and smiling, and laughing at the antics of the rest of us. By all indications, he is going to be a jolly giant.
Declan, naturally, is the most fun to observe; that, his parents tell me, is what little boys are for, to entertain us. And young “D” (or #2) certainly lives up to expectations.
Sometimes, of course, he is a typical three-year-old, as when he refuses to swallow his supper, or to stop playing with his trains to go to bed, or to brush his teeth. But I have to admit that I find that fascinating too, although officially I disapprove as heartily as the rest of the grownups.
But it’s when he fearlessly explores the world that I marvel most at him.
On Saturday afternoon, we were all down on the dock, watching the duck that was hanging around for scraps, when D’s mother noticed he wasn’t with us any more. After a few anxious moments, we spied him a couple of hundred yards away up the hill, on the edge of a wooded area that stretches beyond the cottage to the west. I volunteered to go fetch him.
“What are you doing, Declan?” I asked him as I approached.
“Going on an adventure,” he said excitedly.
“Can Grampy come?”
“Sure,” he said immediately. “Let’s go.”
So off we went with my dog Lacey on a half-hour exploration of the woods, the three of us sometimes running, sometimes going very slowly wherever the deadfall threatened to poke a little boy’s eye out. We closely examined all the different plants we saw (D particularly enjoying the acorns and the word “fern”, which he told his Mom about when he got back), including a patch of mushrooms which he spotted all by himself. We looked into an old birdhouse, and waved to everyone when we came out to an open spot on the shore of the lake. We threw sticks for Lacey, and talked to some birds, and saw some very interesting bugs.
It’s highly improbable that Declan will remember that particular walk in the woods, that particular “adventure”, for very long (although I’m pretty sure he’ll remember what a fern is). When you’re three, there are a lot of adventures that come along every day.
But for a Grampy that was never a dad, that half-hour walk was pretty special. I’m glad that little boy let me come with him.
And I’m glad I get to celebrate Grampy’s Day.
