How sweet it is to be a grandfather

When I was a kid, grandfathering was in the air. My classmates would tell stories about their smart grandfathers. On the radio I’d hear the novelty song, “I’m My Own Grandpa.” I wondered, what’s the big deal with grandfathers? I never really had one.

My paternal grandfather, Julius Ucko, died before I was born. (His wife, my grandmother Alice, perished in the Holocaust.) My other grandfather, Fred Hauser, was largely invisible or unavailable. When I was 5 or 6, my mother and I took the train from New York to Los Angeles to visit her parents in Santa Monica. I didn’t see Granddad during the whole two-week stay — he was ill, I was told, and remained in his bedroom upstairs. But the trip did provide an ongoing family joke. I had noticed my grandmother boiling towels on the stove.

“Look, Mommy,” I said. “Grandma’s making towel soup!”

I never did find out why the towels were needed.

Years later, after my grandmother died, Grandpa was brought from Santa Monica to a nursing home in Westchester County, north of New York City. When I was 10, my parents took me along on one of their periodic visits. By then, I knew Grandpa had Parkinson’s disease. Clad in a nightshirt and slippers, and looking frail, he was unsteady on his feet and needed assistance from my parents. When I next saw him a couple of months later, he was bedridden and could barely talk. His hands shook with uncontrollable tremors. He died a few weeks later.

Decades later, my wife Claire and I were more than ready for grandkids. Many of our friends and colleagues began having grandchildren in their 50s or 60s. Yet, there we were, me in my 80s, Claire in her 70s, with both of our two married children trying to have kids, without success.

Three years ago, our son Dan, and his wife Steph, drove up from their home in Santa Barbara to help celebrate Claire’s birthday. As Claire unwrapped one of their gifts, she shrieked, “Oh my God!” What astonished her was a white frame containing an ultrasound image of an embryo —yes, our forthcoming grandchild — with the words “Coming Soon” underneath. I was thrilled! At long last I would become a granddad. We celebrated.

When Elle was born, I longed to see and hold her. But just before “Mission Elle,” our planned trip to Santa Barbara, I fell, broke my hip and was rushed in for hip-replacement surgery the same day. And my docs, perhaps overly concerned about blood clots, cautioned me not to travel by air or take long car rides for the next three months — grandfathering on hold.

I finally did get to see Elle, as well as her sister, Rye, born a year later. Elle is playful and smart. Rye laughs a lot and I laugh with her. When I see Elle, we play little-kid games, like hide the treat. More often, when we’re in our far-apart homes, we rely on Sunday morning FaceTimes. As I connect on my phone with Dan, I’ll hear him saying to Elle, “It’s Grandpa Tom!” I’ll read her a couple of books — usually the ones with lift-the-flap pictures of animals or trucks, and she’ll (mostly) pay close attention.

More recently, my daughter Kori and her husband Steve, who just moved from New York City to Larkspur, provided me with granddaughter No. 3, Daisy. I held her when she was 2 days old, captivated by this precious new person. At last, I have a nearby grandchild — 12 miles away rather than 350 — to cuddle, play with and shower with love.

After waiting so long for grandchildren, gaining three in two and a half years is a magical gift. To echo the catchphrase of a long-ago television program, “The Jackie Gleason Show,” “How sweet it is!”

Tom Ucko is a Novato resident. He is the author of “Born on the Run: How the Holocaust Shaped My Life and Other Stories.” IJ readers are invited to share their stories of love, dating, parenting, marriage, friendship and other experiences for our How It Is column, which runs Tuesdays in the Lifestyles section. All stories must not have been published in part or in its entirety previously. Send your stories of no more than 600 words to lifestyles@marinij.com. Please write How It Is in the subject line. The IJ reserves the right to edit them for publication. Please include your full name, address and a daytime phone number.