April 5th, 2025
I’ve been a fulltime caregiver for one of our grandchildren for over four years now. My wife and I have been responsible for Asher almost since he got out of the NICU. The thing that is most striking about my relationship with Asher is that I spend more time with him than I ever did with any of our own children. This is mostly due to the fact that I am retired. It is also because Asher does not currently have anyone else to care for him. In many cases grandparents serve as part time babysitters to help out the parents of the grandkids. My wife and I act in place of Asher’s actual parents. For the time being, we are raising our grandson, and we have more time to do so than we did with the previous generation. However, we have far less energy than we did thirty years ago.
My wife and I work in shifts to care for Asher. I am a morning person, so I am active with Asher early in the day. My wife is a night owl, so she takes over after lunchtime. I am in the habit of going places with Asher, usually to a playground or a library. That gives my wife a chance to catch up on her household chores or work on her fiber arts or just relax and enjoy some quiet time. Asher and I are together almost every day for three to five hours, just him and me. We play, we talk, we eat, and we argue. We bond, and we do that in a way that I have never done with a four-year-old. I am his grandpa, but also more than that, and he is more than just a grandson to me.
Yesterday, the two of us went sightseeing. We drove a few miles south to the Eco Justice Center. It’s a small farm and also a place for environmental studies. Asher always notices when we are getting close to the farm because he sees the blades of the wind turbine turning in the breeze. The farm has chicken, goats, and alpacas. Asher likes to visit the alpacas. He keeps calling them llamas. Well, he’s close to being right.
The people running the farm also have a few guinea hens. Those are fiercely territorial creatures. They apparently like to defend their turf from small children. Asher is a small child, and they confronted him. He ran from two of them, which encouraged their aggressive behavior. One of them nipped at his blue jeans. He freaked out. I told Asher,
“Don’t run. Walk slowly to our car.”
He moved away from the guinea hens at a glacial pace while keeping an eye on them. He asked me,
“Grandpa, is this slow enough?”
“Yeah. However, we need to get to the car sometime. You can go a little faster.”
We left the farm and drove a little way to the lighthouse at Wind Point. The lighthouse sits close to the shoreline of Lake Michigan north of Racine. Asher was excited about going to the beach. The water was cold, and the wind was kicking up breakers that churned the surf into a greyish brown color. Asher had on his rain boots because I knew he would play in the surf. He found a mound of tiny shells. He picked one up and put it to his ear. He told me,
“Grandpa, I can hear the ocean!”
Most of the beach was covered with brownish sand, but there was also a low-lying ledge of limestone that was filled with hollows that served as tidal pools. Asher launched small round stones into the pools. The rocks were of different colors: black or white or deep red. As he threw the stones, he kept moving further into the water.
I yelled at him, “Don’t go in too deep! I don’t want you to get water in your boots!”
“But Grandpa! I am not going too deep! Can’t you see?”
Note: Asher’s favorite word is “but”. Most responses I receive from Asher start with that word.
Later, Asher grew weary of throwing stones into the lake. He insisted on climbing the large rocks inland from the beach. He was clambering up them from the shore toward the lighthouse. That worried me. I kept imagining him slipping and doing a lip stand. I told him,
“Get off the rocks! I don’t want you to get hurt!”
He kept climbing over the boulders. As he navigated the rocks, he replied,
“I can do this! See! I am on the other side now! I didn’t get hurt! I am on the main island now!”
The “main island”? The “mainland”? Whatever. He was on a level grassy area inland from the rocks. He asked me, “Grandpa, what is this place?”
“Asher, this is a golf course.”
The answer meant nothing to him. We got back into the car and drove to his favorite playground.
The day was getting warmer, and the playground was packed with youngsters. I prefer to visit the playground when it is not so busy. The more kids there are, the higher the energy level. As the population increases, the volume goes up. The children move faster and confusion reigns. Often, caregivers at the playground have their eyes glued to their smart phones. When the place swarms with children, everyone’s radar is focused on their young charges. It’s easy to lose a kid in the crowd.
Asher was running around like all his contemporaries. I kept moving with him. I got tired. Being hyper-vigilant is exhausting. Finally, I told him it was time to go home. He balked at this idea. After much haggling, he got into his car seat.
On the way home I rolled through a yellow light. Asher noticed. He told me in all seriousness,
“Grandpa, a yellow light means that you should slow down and stop.”
I said, “Thanks, Asher. I’ll do that next time.”
He fell asleep after that.
Frank is Emptiness 