In a few minutes, we’ll be getting into the car and hitting road. We’ll swing by the bank, run a few errands, then drive south on I-5 until we get to our state capitol.
I’m going to meet someone very important for the very first time. She’s not a politician, although she’s going to be leading a family in their decisions for the next couple of decades. Her name is Lillybeth Jeanne Pfaff.
My new grand-daughter.
We’ve actually got a couple of first-time grand parents in the hopper at work. Those who have crossed into that realm have nothing but great things to say about it. But it seems just like yesterday that my grandparents were these kindly old folks, who spoke gently and moved slow. My dad’s mom was a Scottish woman named Harriet. I never met my dad’s father. He passed away before I was born. Then there were my mom’s folks. The complete set of grandparents, who raised her on a farm and, when I first remember going back to South Dakota to visit, still lived on one.
Then there was the shift when my parents became “Grandma & Grandpa”. That became my image of what grandparents were like. Now, I just have to look into the mirror.
Time is a sly creature. You blink, they’re grown up. You blink again and you find yourself being welcomed into the grandparents club. Today, of all days–a Friday the 13th–I’m going to be lucky enough to meet my granddaughter for the very first time. It’ll be a while before she calls me ‘Grandpa’, but don’t worry, Lillybeth. My friends are already doing it, and loving every minute of it.
I’ll keep the club going until you’re ready to join.