How I Am Turning Into A Grandpa

by Kim Bongiorno
Originally Published: 

Not just any old man: a grandpa.

Grandpas strike a special balance between ornery and adorable, which makes me not necessarily too bummed about this revelation. I mean, really—who doesn’t love hanging out with Gramps, even if he scowls a lot more than he has reason to?

Here are some of the things I’ve recently noticed I have in common with the typical male octogenarian:

–The waist of my pants is much higher than anyone else’s around me.

–I’ve muttered “kids these days” under my breath, but not under my breath enough that the kids I’m complaining about can’t hear me.

–I happily take my kids to the park, then tell them stories about people I know who have lost limbs messing around on the things they’re playing on.

–My right knee aches when it’s going to rain.

–I have my favorite chair in front of the television, and it irritates me when other people sit in it.

–My kids know to come to me for quarters.

–I’m up at dawn, eating oatmeal and watching the weather to confirm what my knee tells me.

–I have lunch before noon.

–I sit down for dinner at 5 p.m.

–I’m ready for bed by 8 p.m.

–I’ve asked my kids to “hand me the clicker.”

–Why the hell would I hire someone to fix something I can do my damn self?

–I wear bifocals.

–I don’t like driving at night.

–I’m much happier hearing my kids play Kick the Can than I am hearing them play Mario Kart.

–My shoes are very large and supportive.

–When my kids want to take me out for dinner, I much prefer the local diner to one of those new fandangled fancy restaurants.

–I’ve been accused of yelling when I’m honestly only using my indoor voice.

–I have found eyebrow hairs longer than the hair on my head.

–The only magic trick I know is how to pull a nickel out of a kid’s ear.

–I have a jar full of bars of soap.

–In fact, I’m prepared for pretty much anything.

–When I’m watching the kids from the couch, I tend to rest my eyelids.

–My favorite candy: Butterscotch Life Savers.

–My kids sit on my lap and ask me to tell them what it was like “in the olden days.”

I could go on, but you get the picture.

Besides, I need to leave soon. I’m walking downtown to meet my buddies at the VFW to complain about the price of gas over black coffee, and it’s uphill both ways.

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