by Ian Haysom
“So, a few weeks ago,” she says, “when the class first started, I laid some ground rules with the kids—the usual stuff. And last week, I asked the class if anybody remember some of the rules we talked about last week? and Malcolm said ‘yeah, not to say bad words, like stupid . . . and fuck.’”
I couldn’t help but laugh, and I’ve been laughing all week, ever since it happened.”
I smile with the teacher, have a laugh, and thank her for telling me. Not really want you want to hear, but it was good-natured, innocent, and well-received, so I guess that is a win for any Mom?!
Randy McHale
Randy was executive producer of BCTV’s News Hour and then Global’s News Hour. We play golf (do you detect a pattern here?) and laugh a lot. He’s one of the funniest people I know.
When our first grandchild was very young, he somehow decided that he liked Batman. None of us was even sure how he knew about the Dark Knight, but he made it very clear that he wanted to know more.
As it happened, we owned a large collection of movies at the time. And sure enough, it included one of the early Batman movies. I can’t remember whose bright idea this was, but I found myself sitting in the TV room with young Bronson, the video cued up and ready to go. There were to be no scenes of violence, no adult themes at all—I had promised my daughter that. And I had already mapped out the suitable bits and sharpened my non-existent skills with the remote. What could possibly go wrong? And anyway, hadn’t I already armoured the poor child with my great clanging philosophy that violence is never the answer?
And so it was, in a deep sweat, that I pressed play at the very moment that my grandson put a reassuring hand on my arm.
“Don’t be afraid, Papa, it’s only a movie.”
He was three.
Afterword
It all started with a pair of red boots. I was a young student at journalism college near London, heading into the centre of town at lunchtime, when ahead of me was a young long-haired woman in red boots—and wearing a mini skirt, this being the late sixties.
I followed those boots, caught up with the fellow journalism student, and instantly fell in love with her. With her smile. Her eyes. Her laugh. Her everything.
If memory serves, I had my own long hair under a bandana and was wearing a Che Guevara T-shirt, so I wasn’t exactly a catch. She didn’t seem to mind. We walked together into the centre of town and have walked together through life ever since.
It feels like fate. Because I followed first those red boots and then my heart, we have four kids and three grandchildren—with a fourth grandchild is on the way.
Our son Tim and his partner Jacy are expecting their first grandchild this summer. We call him (or her) TJ for now—the parents’ initials—though at the time of writing he (or she) is a big, beautiful bump. They say they’d like more than one. Life just keeps getting better.
We are, as Cat Stevens once sang, only dancing on this world for a short while, and as you get older, you’re more aware of that with every passing, precious second. You savour every stolen moment.
I also, more than ever, appreciate the randomness and the magic of life. We are here, not just because Beth and I crossed paths dressed in our hippie garb, but also because two other people met centuries and centuries ago. And then two other people met and got together. And then two others.
Destiny? Luck? Who knows? We are lucky to have got to dance this dance. All of us. But I do know that dancing, for even a short while, with my grandchildren has been a joy almost beyond measure. I hadn’t imagined it could be this wondrous just to share this short time with them. Even when they screamed. Or sprayed me with water. Or wrecked my back.
Being a grandfather helps you remember your inner child.
Here’s some of the things I learned in the trenches of modern grandparenthood:
Children are beautiful. Oh, sure, we mess them up. We put silly things into their heads as they grow older, and they lose that wonderful innocence. But there’s nothing as indescribably perfect as a granddaughter laughing and smiling and holding your hand.
Kids are wiser than you think. When Mayana told me she’d figured out the difference between adults and kids (adults talk, kids play), she was on the money.
Adults should play more. And skip along the street. And try and miss the lines on the sidewalk. And sing. And sometimes go wheeeee ... as they run along a country path. Dance like nobody’s watching? Live like nobody’s watching.
Grandkids don’t whine so much when their parents aren’t around.
Don’t talk to children as if they’re babies. Or they’ll act like babies.
Grandkids are useless at hide and seek.
You don’t need expensive trips. Mostly, you need a puddle.
Try not to shout “Shit” at the top of your voice or “Asshole” to another driver when you’re in the car with your granddaughter. Not if you don’t want to get told off.
“Grandad, can you help me take my shoes off.” That’s music to my soul.
A tub full of bubbles before bedtime is better than watching an Oscar-winning comedy.
Try and keep up. “Come on, Grandad. Come on.”
Kids say the neatest things. “Grandad, my feet are sweating.”
Enjoy every moment. Even the bad ones. You’ll soon forget them. And remember the rest.
They will too.
You want to preserve your grandchildren in time . . . to stay forever at maybe three or four years old. You want these moments to stay exactly like this. But then you want to live long enough to watch them graduate. Maybe get married (if they want to) . . . and have kids—your great-grandchildren. Yikes!
Don’t be a grumpy old man around your grandkids. Do you want them to call you Grumpa?
Make up stories.
Octopuses in the aquarium can be scary when you’re three years old.
Sing lullabies.
Just sing.
Though I thank my ancestors for enabling me to be here, I don’t dwell on family trees, so much, but on the future. I imagine my grandchildren having their own lives, their own experiences, their own victories and defeats, and though I won’t be here to share all of those experiences, they should know how much joy they have brought me. Just as my kids did.
In its infancy, this book was simply My Summer with Mayana. Because she insinuated herself into my heart. Then Emma and Linden came along, and I wrote even more. Now another grandchild, and another chapter, is yet to come. I am happy beyond words.
This is my love letter to them.
Acknowledgements
First, I’d like to thank my family for putting up with me. To my wife Beth, who has been supportive throughout my journalistic career, through more ups than downs, but also for sharing this adventure of life.
To my four children Amy, Jani, Tim, and Paul who continue to amaze and delight me and make me proud. The journey with them has been, well, wonderful (my favourite word, apparently). They’re all a lot smarter than me and better-looking, but I still love them.
And thanks too—obviously—to my grandchildren for giving me inspiration every day and endless laughter.
This book began as an idea many years ago when staying at Discovery Islands Lodge on Quadra Island, run by our friends Ralph and Lani Keller. I had left full-time journalism and was happily sitting on a dock by the ocean, looking up at the mountains. I was singing on my guitar to Mayana as she giggled along and realized how much unabashed joy I derived from being a new grandfather. I’d originally thought of writing a book about some of my funnier journalism memories, but decided I’d do this one first.
My thanks also to the friends, relatives, and colleagues who contributed their grandfatherly vignettes. We are now a cult.
My thanks to the Victoria Times Colonist and Vancouver Sun, for allowing me to dig into their archives to retrieve some old columns, thoug
h in the end we cut just about all of those bits out. Every writer needs a good editor.
My editor at Heritage House, Warren Layberry, has been superb, and I thank him for his counsel, guidance, and professionalism. Thanks also to Lara Kordic, Nandini Thaker, and Leslie Kenny for their support and patience.
And finally, my thanks to Jack Knox, the super-funny Victoria Times Colonist columnist who encouraged me to publish this book. Blame him.
STOP THE PRESS!
That’s an old newspaper term for when presses were stopped to insert late-breaking news.
Well, our hold-the-back-page news is that as this book was being readied for the printers, our fourth grandchild, Summer, was born in North Vancouver! In the summer, of course! She is adorable, with blonde hair, big eyes, and tiny, perfect hands. We will play piano together. I’ll teach her Chopsticks.
Mum Jacy, Dad Tim, and Summer are all doing fine.
Now that's some late-breaking good news.
The story continues ...
About the Author
Ian Haysom is a lifelong journalist who has worked in newspapers, television, and online. He has been a reporter, feature writer, music writer, film critic, correspondent, city editor, and columnist. He was editor-in-chief of two of Canada’s largest newspapers, the Vancouver Province and the Vancouver Sun. He started his career in England, worked in Fleet Street, but spent most of his journalistic career in, first, eastern Canada on the Hamilton Spectator, Ottawa Journal, and Ottawa Citizen, then British Columbia. He later moved to television news, as the news director for BCTV News, CHEK News in Victoria, and Global News in Vancouver. His writing has appeared in most major Canadian newspapers over the past four decades.
Copyright © 2020 Ian Haysom
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, audio recording, or otherwise—without the written permission of the publisher or a licence from Access Copyright, Toronto, Canada.
Heritage House Publishing Company Ltd.
heritagehouse.ca
Cataloguing information available from Library and Archives Canada
978-1-77203-333-5 (pbk)
978-1-77203-334-2 (ebook)
Edited by Warren Layberry
Cover and interior design by Jacqui Thomas
Excerpts from columns appearing on pages 12–14 and 94–96 are reproduced with permission from the Victoria Times Colonist.
Heritage House gratefully acknowledges that the land on which we live and work is within the traditional territories of the Lkwungen (Esquimalt and Songhees), Malahat, Pacheedaht, Scia’new, T’Sou-ke, and WSÁNEĆ (Pauquachin, Tsartlip, Tsawout, Tseycum) Peoples.
We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.