King Grandpa

Life Stuff

The grandchildren will remember last summer’s family gathering for a long time.

One of the aunts and a few older cousins set up a game of lawn-sized Candyland. Stationed beside periodic stopping-spots along the colorful trail were uncles, cousins, Grandpa, and Grandma, dressed as the various Candyland characters.

Grandpa was King Kandy. Large sunglasses hid his kind eyes. An elaborate paper crown with mint patties and chocolate coins circled his head. York patties in red wrappers served as buttons marching down the candy-color-striped tunic Grandma had made for him. She had even stuffed the waist of the tunic with plastic bags to give him a cheerful paunch.

In a cardboard castle decorated with huge paper ice cream cones, its turrets topped with cheap silver balls, Grandpa sat regally, a chair for his throne. One hand held a plastic-bat scepter with a ball of candy on the end, the other held an imperious cane. As each of the children came to the Finish square of the colorful stepping stones, King Kandy rewarded each one with a candy bar and a bottle of bubbles—if they were young enough to want bubbles.

When the game was over, the Candyland characters went to change themselves back into themselves, and the aunts cleaned up the game. One of the granddaughters swung her pail of candy joyously. “This is the most fun game I ever played at a family gathering!” Her sparkling black eyes attested to the sincerity of her words.

There is another part of this story that the children might never know. Grandpa did something else for them that day that they might not realize, much less be able to put into words, even when they are adults.

Three days before the gathering, one of Grandpa’s close friends had died. Most of the grandchildren don’t know that the day before he valiantly played King Kandy, Grandpa had helped to dig a grave.

He didn’t feel like dressing up goofy on that family gathering day. “It hardly seems right to be light-hearted while a family is newly grieving,” he had told Grandma that morning.

“Do it for the children,” she encouraged him gently.

And so he did. Grandpa loves his family. His daughter had asked him to be King Kandy, and all were working together to make a special time for the grandchildren. So instead of disappointing anyone, Grandpa set aside his own grief and preferences, donning the silly tunic and crown because the children’s happiness was important to him.

In my mind, Grandpa acted like a true king that day. He is one of the meekest, humblest men I know, but he demonstrated the kingly qualities of compassion and putting the welfare of others above self-interest. While his own heart was heavy, he remained a centered and engaged presence. The funeral was coming, but the time to give joy came first.

If the grandchildren could fathom what Grandpa did for them that day, they too would elevate his status to King Grandpa. Maybe someday they will comprehend, and their respect and love for him will only increase.

Sometimes what you do, even when it looks silly, says a whole lot about who you are.

Note: I will be taking a break from posting for the month of April. Who knows? I might like it so much that I decide to keep taking a break. I plan to immerse myself in rhythm and rhyme and distilled language, both my own and that of others, in April, which is Poetry Month.

“Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power.”-Paul Engle