by Ian Haysom
I want to tell them about a world before computers and colour television, a world where you were lucky to go to a restaurant once a year, where you read books for fun, where you rode just about everywhere on a bike or a bus because you were lucky if your family had a car.
And then that dreaded phrase: “When I was your age . . .”
And the glazing over of young eyes. Sure, Grandpa, you lived in a box and walked barefoot in snow in both directions to get to school where they beat you because you were too hungry to keep your eyes open.
Okay, not that bad. But I get the drift. More fun to stay in the present, a world in which we both live and can relate. Where the past doesn’t seem as important anymore. And, sure, if I can drop in the odd war story, or traipse down memory lane when they’re in the mood, then that’s fine.
They do enjoy looking at old photo albums, mostly to see what their mums and dads looked like when they were younger. We also shot plenty of Super 8 video when they were young, and, now digitized, can be fun to watch on a winter’s day. Especially the one in which all of our kids—their parents—did a Christmas show in the living room. It makes me laugh and wipe away a tear every time I watch it. I hope my grandkids will watch it well into the next century.
COVID-19 aside, the present is, right now, a wonderful time. Partly because I’m a grandfather. The thing, as you get older, is still to find a purpose, a reason to be. Being a grandfather is a large part of that. But not the only part. Living for today, smelling the roses, and appreciating the world around you, is frankly a lot easier as you get older. You don’t have a lot more to prove, people to impress. You are who you are. And because you’ve lived longer than you’re going to live, and because your own future is uncertain, you tend to treasure every minute you have. I’m not sure why grumpy old men get that way. Regret? Lost youth? Frustration that all the bits of your body don’t work as well as they used to? Perhaps.
So the past is taken care of, the present is fine, but what of the future.
I do worry sometimes about the kind of world we’ve left our grandchildren. Just the other day I saw a documentary that predicted the world’s population, now hovering around 7.7 billion, will be 10 billion by 2050. There will be huge challenges in terms of food and water. And if the rest of the world were to consume at the rate of North Americans, we’ll be lucky to get out of this century without major catastrophic events.
Okay, let’s get this out of the way. Grandparents, most of us Boomers, have to wear some guilt and shame for leaving our grandkids a very imperfect future. We were going to make it a better world. Sure, in many ways it is. Racism and discrimination and homophobia and sexism are still with us, but now we are confronting it. We can do better. Sure. But I’m an optimist, and I figure things can and will improve if we have the will.
The world is still on edge. We mistrust our leaders. And our sense of place has forever changed. There’s so much noise and chaos right now, that trying to make sense of it all gives you a permanent headache.
I am worried and excited about the future and the world our grandchildren will inherit. We have to do a lot more about climate change, sure, and stop using plastics. (How strange in The Graduate that Mr. Robinson tells Benjamin to remember one word. Plastics! That’s where he’ll make his fortune. No wonder Mrs. Robinson decided to go rumpy-pumpy with Benjamin. She knew her husband was a limp climate denier.)
Our Boomer generation has consumed until we’re blue in the face, as the planet becomes less blue and more grey. We flew and drove everywhere we could and kept our light bulbs burning when we didn’t need them.
And, yes, even after COVID-19 and how we learned a virus can wreak havoc around the world, I have faith in the future. In our kids and grandkids, who seem now to be a lot smarter and aware than we were. Even our generation is getting a lot better at everything from recycling and using public transit and eating locally. It’s a journey.
I haven’t got much time for climate change deniers. But our communities and more and more businesses are waking up. We’re seeing the demise of the plastic bag and increasing pressure on companies to use less packaging. In our own house we put out very little garbage these days—but recycle plenty. I called my wife St. Beth of the Environment thirty years ago, and because of her we’ve largely walked the talk. I’m still lousy at the plastic bag thing because we have a bunch of recyclable bags, but I always forget them.
“I’m fine,” I say at the supermarket checkout. “I don’t need a bag, I’ll juggle.” And then I head to the parking lot with bananas, grapefruit, cereal and assorted cans and then, somehow, have to locate my car key without sending everything dropping on the ground. I did lose three oranges once, under a large truck. I figured they’d decompose eventually.
The future, technologically, looks amazing. And scary as hell. The century in which we grandfathers were born saw the most rapid technological change in our planet’s history. At the beginning of the twentieth century, Wilbur and Orville Wright were trying to get their powered rudimentary plane into the air. By its end we had been to the moon and back a few times, flights around the world became routine, and this thing called a computer radically shifted every paradigm in the book.
On the way, it destroyed countless newspapers—my means of employment for many years—and many other industries. But technology, and some gifted individuals, helped us live longer and healthier and made the world infinitely more interesting. In the twentieth century we all got to live like royalty. We saw more places, we got entertained by more things than the court jesters of olden days, and though, as the writer Neil Postman once posited, we entertained ourselves to death, well, it was quite the ride.
We can’t even begin to predict the world in which our grandchildren will be adults. At the beginning of the last century, mail in America was delivered by stagecoach. The head of Wells Fargo at the time predicted that’s how mail would be delivered by the end of the century. Sure, he had a vested interest, but we can forgive his lack of vision. Nobody back then could predict email, Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, or the many other ways of communicating. Today the telephone is hardly just that anymore. It opens a world of wonder every time we take it out of our pockets.
And the rate of change is head-spinning. Look at music and television. We have, in our lifetimes, seen not only the demise of the 45 and 33⅓ rpm record, but also the introduction of the eight-track and compact disc, and then their replacement by streaming services. The video stores came with their VHS and Beta, and then DVD, and now Blockbuster is no more, and we have Netflix and Apple TV and countless other ways to get our movie fix.
How far can technology now go? I’d say, to the moon, Alice, but it’s already taken us there. But not, thankfully, Alice.
I once did a project for a media company predicting what the future of newspapers would look like. As part of that project our group spoke to some of the super-brains at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. They almost predicted the future of electronic newspapers, though they didn’t at that time predict cellular or WiFi access. They saw us taking a tablet—this was way before iPads had been invented—to a corner box owned by the newspaper. We would stick it into a slot, and the latest news would be downloaded.
Wow, we all said, and went home to cut down a bunch of trees and turn them into newsprint because we figured most of our readers would prefer their news to be given to them. Ah, what stupid innocents we were. In our defence, we pointed out in our final report that we were no longer in the newspaper business, but the news and “content” business—and had to give our readers the news on any platform they preferred. Well, at least we got that part right.
But one of those MIT super-brains told us something that hasn’t quite happened. Yet. We could, he said, one day have microchips inserted into our heads and we could, just by thinking, dial up any TV show, or book, or newspaper, or movie on a virtual screen in front of us.
Wh
oa. Big Brother looms, we all said. And yet, Alexa and Google Play and Facebook et al are already reading our preferences, our minds, our algorithms. I wouldn’t be shocked if that virtual screen doesn’t catch on. If I’m still here I’ll have a 65-inch wraparound in 3D, please.
I have read some books of late predicting what the world will look like by the end of the twenty-first century. We will have hover cars, driven by compressed power. Oil won’t exist. We will live in smart homes that can predict our needs and even monitor our health.
“Mr. Smith,” says the virtual future Alexa, “we have detected a minor tumour growing on your left kneecap. We have scheduled an operation next Tuesday.”
Scientists say we can’t even begin to predict this future. But it promises to be a wild ride. With upsides and downsides. We will have toothbrushes that can clean our teeth with sonar in ten seconds. But will we have a brain, to paraphrase the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz? Artificial Intelligence, like the robots before them, will eliminate more and more jobs—but will they also eliminate our need to think, to analyze, to reason, to be? The future is exciting. And perhaps Orwellian.
I wish my grandkids lots of luck. I wish I could be there with them.
Other Grandfathers
I must confess that I was a reluctant grandparent at first.
In a youth-obsessed society, where every wrinkle is a badge of shame, being a grandparent isn’t exactly something you shout from the rooftops. “Hey, grandpa” can be an insult in the workplace. It means you’re past it, old timer. Go sit in your rocking chair.
And yet.
Mick Jagger, wrinkles and all, is a great-grandfather.
Roger Daltrey of The Who, who once sang that he hoped he’d die before he got old, is a grandpa at least ten times over.
Paul McCartney is a proud grandad, as is Ringo. McCartney even wrote a kids’ picture book, Hey Grandude! in which the grandfather is, yes, a cool dude who goes on adventures with his grandkids.
Jim Carrey. Tom Hanks. Steven Tyler of Aerosmith. Kiefer Sutherland. Pierce Brosnan. Harrison Ford. All grandfathers. Daltrey has taken the grandfather role very seriously. He recorded a version of “The Wheels on the Bus” for toddlers. No guitars were smashed in the recording.
Bob Dylan has several grandchildren, and though nobody can understand a word he’s singing these days, he still manages to fill concert halls around the world. One of his grandsons, Pablo, is a rapper, and calls Dylan “the Jay-Z of his time,” which would mean something cool and hip and life affirming to every grandfather on the planet, if only we knew who Jay-Z is. Or could at least hum one of his songs.
The thing is, being a grandfather isn’t a stereotype any more. Or we hope it isn’t. We are not our grandfathers—we are very much a new breed. But there is one common thread. We’re proud to be grandpas and granddads, and we like to tell stories—to our grandkids, and about them.
As part of this book, I thought it would be cool to ask some of my friends—grandfathers, and in one case, a granddaughter—to write something about grandparenting. I’m grateful to them for their contributions. Because it’s not all about me. At least not all the time.
Enjoy.
Donald MacGregor
Donald is a doctor in Perth, Scotland. He and his family are great outdoors people, hiking and biking up and down mountain and dale. He’s a great friend and a super grandad.
I have three grandchildren: Ava (seven), Ben (five), and Gregor (two). I have said from early in my grandparenting career that even just five minutes with Ava (and same holds for her siblings) puts a smile on my face for the rest of the day—a great prescription for life. But now Ava is older she’s a wee bit suspicious that Grandpa is smiling/laughing at rather than with her . . . maybe true at times. I suspect Ian has had some of the same with Mayana as I remember her mum (Amy) as a wee girl bursting full of life and ideas who brought light and fun with her.
They know Ian well, having had to wait for him many times on a cycle trip through Scotland’s Highlands this year! They are kind—like their grandpa. Having said that it is very difficult to relate stories about your own grandchildren without it being a “grandpa boast” . . . this is acceptable . . . well, it is is for my grandchildren
I am a pediatrician, and my wife, Elspeth, a children’s public health nurse, but when No. 1 grandchild was to be placed in our care she came with a long list of instructions/contact information and regular reminders to update on progress (some of which we managed!), No. 2 grandchild with an occasional text or WhatsApp and No, 3 . . . “don’t call us, we’ll call you!”
As a “cool” Grandpa, I always wanted to give them great fun and adventures and in spite of best efforts I often returned “damaged goods,” them having fallen off logs crossing streams, swingpark tumbles, or just simple trips etc. and necessitating a trip to the local drug store to get sticking plasters, Arnica (anti-bruise cream). And the assistants seemed immediately wise to the situation and anxiety to cover up grandparent incompetence! Having brought up four active/lively children, I was caught out by how exhausting it was restarting that stuff in my fifties even for one small child.
But . . . no doubt despite their young age, grandchildren keep all our brain cells working and remind us what imagination really is. I love it. I asked Ava (then five) what games she played with her friends at school break?
“All sorts, Grandpa. Maybe Unicornland or Wrongeland or stuff like that.”
At first I wondered if these were some sort of commercial or media inventions but was heartened to hear the ins and outs were created by themselves and explained very matter-of-fact to me that Wrongeland just means everything is the wrong way round and upside down and inside out and big is small etc. (obviously, Grandpa. The largest number is zero and smallest is Infinity!) She quickly realized Grandpa maybe not quite up to this but offered to let me play sometime (she didn’t embarrass her/me by pursuing this!).
We maybe all recognize, in retrospect, that small children are sponges for knowledge and particularly the spoken word—care required. Phrases may be repeated and returned when least expected. I realized this early when Ava was just three years old and about to go upstairs in our house. I asked her to carry something up to her bedroom.
“Sorry, Grandpa, my hands are full!”
In the same way children are and always have been children but maybe they are exposed to so much information and come to expect it that it catches us all out. A couple of stories spring to mind from Ava’s preschool years.
The kindergarten teacher reflected that it can be good to have forthright children who know what they want. She had asked the class if there was anything they might like to learn about? The response was immediate from Ava and her friend Mara.
“Yes, we have a list of things that we need to learn about.” And they proceeded to reel off all sorts of topics: science, nature, language, etc.
On another occasion the topic was nature. The teacher had a large chart with various marine animals which the children were to name, and it came to Ava’s turn. She seemed to be struggling, and the teacher was a bit surprised so she tried to prompt her, suggesting it was something she would have seen before. . .”
“No, Miss I haven’t. The tail looks like a grey seal, but the head is more like a harbour seal, and the coat is really like a spotted seal, so I really don’t know what it is!”
George Garrett
George is one of British Columbia’s legendary radio reporters, working for CKNW for decades and winning countless awards.
My wife Joan and I have been blessed with four wonderful grandchildren . . . two each from our daughters Linda and Lorrie. Our son Ken never had a chance to have a family. He died in a canoeing accident at age twenty-five. The loss of our son meant that the arrival of grandchildren was even more precious. Joan devoted herself to the babies who seemed to arrive very quickly.
Lorrie and her husband Dave a
re the proud parents of Lianne, now a schoolteacher (like her mother), and Trevor, a sports enthusiast and all-round good guy.
Linda and her husband Bill honoured our late son by naming their son Kenny, now a broadcast technician and radio host in the Los Angeles area. Kenny was followed by a bright little girl, Mary Paige, who never missed a thing. She is now a maternity ward nurse in the very unit where she was born at a hospital in Vancouver.
The kids grew up so fast we couldn’t believe it. Unfortunately, Joan could not enjoy them these past few years because of Alzheimer’s. She does not now recognize the children she loved so dearly.
I am happy to say I am very close to all four of my grandchildren. I asked them to write down their thoughts about grandparents. Here they are in the order of their birthdates (which I dare not disclose).
lianne watt—UVic grad and teacher
Some of my favourite childhood memories took place with my grandparents. I was fortunate to grow up with four amazing, caring and supportive grandparents. We spent countless days at their houses playing with our cousins and all the fun activities they did with us. It was always special when they came with us for family vacations. We have amazing memories of Disneyland, Palm Springs, and all over British Columbia. One of my proudest moments was having three of my grandparents at my university graduation. There is something so special about the relationship between a grandchild and a grandparent. Grandparents spoil you, support you, take pride in everything you do and love you unconditionally. They also let you have ice cream for dinner.
Kenny Field—Columbia School of Broadcasting graduate, now a broadcast technician and host of his own radio program in Long Beach, California
Our grandparents are, simply put, the best! Whether it was summer adventures to Cultus Lake, touring around British Columbia, Christmas Eve spent at their house, or listening to Canucks games on the radio and eating sweets until the sun came up, we grandkids were always well looked after. We were always encouraged and supported, learning some important lessons along the way. Some of my fondest memories are with my Ahmey (Eulah Field) and Grandma & Papa (Joan and George Garrett).