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Hanging With the Goonies Has Its Wonder Moments
A Boomer’s Journal
One of the greatest joys of growing older, other than the fact that waking up every day and breathing constitutes another opportunity to do just that, is that we get to spend some ‘quality time’ with our grandchildren. Jill and I have been immensely blessed in this category, with nine munchkins and one due just around the corner.
And there are still two of our kids who have yet to get into the “parent” category, so the brood to grow even more. Now, I put ‘quality time’ in quotes to illustrate that this term has been overused.
Any time spent hanging with the youngsters constitutes quality. We have lately been able to take them to the movies and snatch a few to the Zoo and History Museum.
We have watched some great sporting events together, like the US Women’s World Cup winning run, seeing our Chi-town-born boys freak out at yet another Blackhawk Stanley Cup, and of course the recent American Pharoah Triple Crown excitement.
But there have been other moments, some comical, that make me thank the Big Grandpa in the Sky for my current status.
I recently took a few of the gang fishing. Nothing big, no boats or trips to the country. Just local ponds. It gave us time to talk a bit, and for me to practice the virtue of patience. Where-in, I discovered a Universal Truth: the optimal ratio for Kid-to-Grandpa Outdoor Events most likely maxes out at 2:1.
Here is a brief account of the first test of that Truth.
We pulled up to the neighborhood water hole. On the short walk to the lake, Ella managed to get her pole stuck in a tree. Not even at the shoreline yet. Her bemused grin and raised eyebrows made me laugh, as I cautioned her to not move another inch, and untangled the tip of the pole. Had to tear off a piece of the tree, but hey, no biggie. Made sure I had three poles, one each, no waiting.
Except there was waiting, of course, as I had to bait the hooks. I had some plastic gummy thingies that looked like grubs and smelled like, well, a word that begins with ‘b’ and ends with ‘utt’. Needless to say, this was not a hit with the ladies. I got one baited, ready to go. Except Miss Pole-in-the-Tree stood about a foot away and started to cast. Which she did, right into the oldest sissy Emma’s line as it lie on the grass, awaiting said gummy. First tangle. To be expected. But it was so confabulated that I had to cut both lines and dismantle the bobbers… and weights… and leads…and hooks on both units. Of course, all the while Abby is saying, “Grandpa is it my turn yet? Grandpa… is it my turn yet? Grandpa…”
“Yes, Abby, just be patient,” said I. “Abby, be quiet.. ughhh,” said big sis Emma.
And Ella just grinned. So we finally got two lines baited and out in the water. Abby’s turn. (By the way, did I mention that a nice afternoon suddenly turned sultry, bringing along buckets of sweat? Yeah.) And then a squadron of dragonflies started buzzing Ab. “Aaaargh,” she roared, as only Abby can roar. She swung her pole at them. Tangle city.
Meanwhile, the other two are dragging their lines in slowly, pulling up about two feet of seaweed and sludge at the end, making their line look like a long dark-green goo-sicle. Which of course neither would touch. So I cleaned those off, fixed up Abby’s pole and got it into the water. Whereby she proceeded to match her sisters’ prowess at pulling up a slime booger from the edge of the pond. During that event, Emma had snagged her hook on a stick just under the surface about a foot off the shoreline. I tugged at it and, of course, the line broke. Bobber bobbing mockingly out of reach.
“Grandpa,” said Ella. ,“Yeah, El.” “I’m done.”
“What?” “I’m done. Fishing.”
“Yeah, can we go, it’s hot? Abby moaned, as she knocked over the water tumbler. Well, I would love to say it got better from there. We tried, Ella even getting the hang of casting. But nary a nibble. At least no sister caught a hook in her leg, or slipped into the water. And then, riding home with the A/C blasting, out of the backseat comes a little voice… “Thanks, Grandpa.” And suddenly, it’s all worth it.
The Rule of Two was again tested the week after. Elise and Bubba and I hit a local farm pond by their house. No tangles, no dragonflies, same stinky bait, and three sunfish caught in less than an hour. I factored in the time of day, being early morning, and the location, being a lesser-fished spot. We still had a few tangled lines to contend with. But the 2:1 plan seemed to be a control factor highly-contributory to our modest success.
Ultimately, I tested the hypothesis once more during a golf outing at Tower Tee’s Par 3 course with a third set of g-kids, Clara, Petey and Johnny. They did a good job of getting the ball in play, but it flat wore me out as I took my best shot at teaching the nuances of this most difficult game to three eager learners.
Now don’t get me wrong… I know I am richly blessed. Still, maybe it’s time to tweak that ratio a bit to include a little one-on-one. You know, to maximize that ‘quality time’ thing.
