The Grandkids

We fill our house with grandchildren during the holidays, and inevitably some of the kids (perhaps even most) are at some point coughing and sneezing from allergies or colds or respiratory ailments. We buy tissues by the pallet; the parents—our kids and their spouses—dutifully administer the various medications to their afflicted little charges; breathing-treatment devices and hand-held inhalers are not uncommon sites. Hey, children change environments and climates and often fall ill, at which point they are more likely to share their bugs than their Christmas toys. Since I have a propensity to transform a common cold into full-blown bronchitis, I tend to tread carefully among the ubiquitous hacking and sneezing unless . . .

One of those precious grandkids reaches up to me with an expression of happiness or trust or needed comfort, and then I reach down for them. Instantly; cheerfully; sympathetically. Even amid the bucketloads of snot and drool and the mist of coughing and sneezing, I simply can’t resist. And who could? I’m D-Daddy. I have a role to provide, and I think about that role a lot, and I want to be there to provide it, unless . . .

I feel the sniffles and slight cough beginning to find its way from the submerged to the surface, an annoyance that will eventually morph into something more. It always works that way. Then I know there’s a near certainty that I’ll end up needing a Z-pack and several days of feeling like a bird in an oil spill. I know my own health tendencies, and I know I should keep my distance, unless . . .

One of those grandkids comes crawling into the recliner with me. Those quiet moments are priceless, and I am certain beyond all doubt that I get more from their presence than they do from mine. I always hope the cold will stay just that—a cold—but I know it’s unlikely. Maybe this time I’ll be lucky, unless . . .

The cough deepens. Then I know I’m toast. After the kids have departed, I’ll go to my doctor and get the requisite prescriptions to bring me back to health. And I’ll tell him that I wouldn’t trade the visit with my sick grandkids for the avoidance of his fee. And do you know what he always tells me? He always says, “Good for you.”

And it is good for me.