I went to Tennessee as a young reporter to do a story about the Clinch River Breeder Reactor, the next-generation nuclear plant that was supposed to power America into the 21st century. Grandkids put
life in perspectiveThe breeder's future was looking dim after the near-disaster at Three Mile Island greatly increased public suspicion of nuclear power. It caused a veteran engineer I interviewed to shake his head sadly.
"Telling a nuclear engineer he can't have the breeder reactor is like telling a man he can't have grandchildren," he said.
It was a good quote and I used it, but I really didn't understand what he meant about men and grandchildren until I had one of my own. He was absolutely right about the power of the attachment.
My grandson Corwin and I were slow to bond when he was born nearly three years ago.
At first he preferred to keep company with the women and their soft bosoms. Except for his dad, he had little use for men and screamed whenever he was handed to me. I tried not to take it personally.
As he's grown older, he's starting to see the value of hanging out with someone who will get down on the floor and really play with him, who will let him get a little rough and tumble, who doesn't make himwash his hands every time he touches the dog.
So what is it about men and their grandchildren?
It starts with the way he's happy to see me like nobody else. Sure, my Shar-pei Bingo is glad to see me, but that's different. He's just hoping for a biscuit.
Assuming Corwin is not in one of those impossibly grouchy 2-year-old moods, which is beyond his control, he lights up when he sees me. When he and my daughter Treena come to pick me up from work, I see him sitting in his car seat scanning for me. When he catches sight ofme, he greets me first with a sheepish grin and then with a full-out beam when I return the smile.
I ran into him unexpectedly once at the University of Hawaii and he let out a squeal of glee that shook him head to toe. Try topping that if you're looking for meaning in your life.
The connection is in the way he comes to me for assistance and support.
"I need help, please," he says, handing me a disgustingly sticky candy bar he's sucked down to the wrapper. He wants me to peel back the grimy cellophane so he can get at the rest of it. I do it gladly and wait until he's not watching to scrub my hands.
Or he'll crawl up onto my lap for comfort when he's weeping and hurt -- or more likely it's his feelings that are hurt because someone told him he couldn't stick a Duplo toy in his eye.
I see the bond in the way he sleeps in my arms at the restaurant because he just couldn't stay awake on the long drive over the Pali. I don't eat so his sleep isn't disturbed. I don't mind. I like watching him sleep so peacefully. I can eat anytime.
The engineer from Clinch River had it pegged about the circle of life. As your own best years slip into the past, it just feels right to help guide the little one who will carry on into his best years.
David Shapiro is managing editor of the Star-Bulletin.
He can be reached by e-mail at editor@starbulletin.com.
Previous Volcanic Ash columns