While driving my grandson home from kindergarten the other day, he announced he will one day be a daddy.
Snarky is a proud genetic trait in my family, so I didn’t rein it back. “Shouldn’t you learn how to do addition, make your bed, and finish high school first?’
“Don’t you want me to be happy?” He snapped.
(Obviously the snarky gene has not skipped a generation.)
He was buckled into his car seat in the back so we had to look at each other through the rear-view mirror. “Well, of course, I do. I’m just saying you’re very, very young to be thinking of marriage.”
“I want to get married to a woman one day and have lots and lots of kids.”
I suppressed the need to tell him that “lots and lots” might not be something to mention to “a woman” on their first date. Instead I said, “Well, I am very happy for you, but what brought this on?”
“I want to grow up and be the best daddy in the whole wide world, just like my dad.”
Who can argue with that?
“And,” he said, “I’m going to let you babysit them. You’ll have more grandchildren to love.”
I shot him a look through the rear-view mirror.
I’m his grandmother. I subscribe to AARP and get Medicare. I’m that old.
This is where the knowledge of learning to add and finishing high school might come in handy to a little man who I love with all my heart, a little man buckled into his car seat dreaming big, daddy dreams.