The four stages of conquest
BY STEVE H. CHASIN
Do you ever notice that grandchildren are insidious, patient, sweet, and secret as they weave their web and easily snare you, their grandparents? Looking back, many of us happily embrace this web of cuteness and subtlety without a fight, argument, or grief.
The conquest begins with a small beachhead of toy bags sitting in a coat closet. This army grows exponentially, fed by every occasion possible: general congratulations, birthdays, all holidays, and no-reason visits. This army grabs our legs every time we hold a coat. After fighting them off with smiles, we eagerly enter Stage 2: the Toy Box.
We bought a toy box big enough to cruise the Atlantic Ocean. After being stuffed into the toy bags, the toy box was not even half full. Instead of being astonished at the mountain of toys facing me, I was swept away with the desire to build the hill. Over the years, the Toy Box housed dolls, Legos, board games, paper, paint, play dough, trucks to be pushed, cars with controllers, walkie-talkies, and enough pretend medical devices to outfit a primary care practice. The Toy Box phase ended when its top did not touch the rest of the box.
“Once, my granddaughter ran into my office to tell me something earth-shattering while I was in a Zoom meeting.”
The third stage is acquiring THE ROOM. By now, the grandchildren are staying overnight and “need” their bedrooms. So, before my amazed eyes, my “office” and our extra bedroom became “their” bedrooms. The foldout beds transformed my “office” into one boudoir, the third bedroom into their space. While this didn’t seem like a big deal, it affected my professional life as I worked from home during the pandemic. I was exiled to the balcony during nap time to hold Zoom meetings. My colleagues laughed when we shouted into our computers to drown out the street noise below me. Afterward, I checked on the child and saw her sleeping like an angel. Once, my granddaughter ran into my office to tell me something earth-shattering while I was in a Zoom meeting. The person at the other end of the call chatted with her and later told me how much she enjoyed the seven-year-old. Who knew?
I saw our growth in this wide net of love, safety, and discovery a month later. They laugh and question the tales of the “olden days.” Why was the gray picture of old TV shows called “Black and White”? What is a pay phone? What car seats did you use growing up?
My seven decades melt away as clouds become animals, “Why” is the ubiquitous question, and rain is something to run through and laugh at. Do I love this? You bet!
