A Typical Day With My Three Grandsons

School is in full gear now. The ambience in the house is different. All three boys have hung up their swim trunks for the season.  I think my two younger grandsons are fighting "screen-itis" but do seem to spend more time pouring over artifacts we once called books.  Cam and Josh struggle through a full day: early morning seminary, off to classes, homework, tennis lessons, scouts.  Occasionally they count the hours until one of their five favorite television programs hit the air each night--one favorite escape.

I’m usually reading, but I think one Wednesday night program has a South American girl in it who speaks broken English; apparently a weak plot, but excellent acting, according to the boys.

Cam, whom I call “Cal,” named for my favorite character in Lonesome Dove, is our media sponge.  I take some pride in those genes his mother inherited from me that passed on to him.  That gift allows you to imitate the voices of characters in film and on television and, occasionally, in real life [if it’s tasteful, that is].

Cam has great tolerance for the familiar.  He loves to reread and watch old friends.  Last Christmas after 8 showings of It’s a Wonderful Life, I hated Bedford Falls.  I never thought the day would come when I would tire of Jimmy Stewart’s whiny voice—one of my more famous imitations during high school algebra.

Cam’s best work, though, comes out of O Brother, Where Art Thou? Having taught Homer’s Odyssey for years, I approve of this edgy film because of the striking parallels between film and epic. “Friend, I think some of your money’s come unstowed,” Cal whines while quietly pulling five dollar bills out my wallet, which he has deftly lifted from my pocket.  In the scene a few remember, thousands of bills fly out of crazy George [not “Babyface] Nelson’s Model T while he attempts to out-race the cops.

Another parlor trick of Cam’s is to cross-reference characters in different films. “See her,” he shouts, “that’s Glenne Headley; she played Elmira in Lonesome Dove and Janet Colgate in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.  I tell him we need to talk more about job descriptions one of these days.  Surely this kind of encyclopedic knowledge can float somewhere...

Soli is the last of the three Mohicans.  Soli [Josh], picked up this name from Grandpa. Yes, I have a penchant for renaming my friends and loved ones.  If I care about you, you’ll have to live with either a strange new name or a reworking of your old one.  I call myself Old Son, adopted name of a character in a Masterpiece Theater  production.  I refer to my wife with bird species; a dear friend in my ward I address, using the names of flowers.  My daughter says it’s like living with Mr. Audubon.  And every “Bill” or “Bob” soon becomes Billy and Bobby.

Now the name “Soli” was born of Barbara Kingsolver’s, Lacuna, a term of endearment Frida Kahlo uses for her dear friend, the narrator, who reminds her of sunlight and a “little son” she never had.  I think there might also be a sense of isolato in the name’s Spanish roots.  But Soli is not isolated.  His weekends are full of pool parties and sleep-overs; summers, he’s “booked” solid.  Kids and parents like him because he’s gentle and sweet. When I put on a "Forrest Gump"voice and facetiously beg him for some attention for 35 cents, he very nearly tears up.

His idea of a “fun night” is to watch one of Old Son’s occasional  hours in front of the television.  He envisions storms, dreams of snow and thick flannel, shielding us from the raging Idaho snow.  He’s not a Texan.

Yesterday afternoon, Soli burst into the house, red hair flying.  All of 75 pounds when he emerges from the pool soaking wet, he told us with consternation that he has to “commit,” concerning next year's athletics program.  “Be ready to declare next fall, boys.  If you don’t opt for a 'real' sport like football, we’ll throw you into regular PE, where you’ll be lucky if the kid next to you can man up and throw a ball ten yards."

So...what do you think we have next year?  A potential UT Longhorn football player.  Probably a running back.   But if he fails as a Longhorn, he can head to Hollywood.  His mother has tried to catch some candid moments with Old Son, usually with a grandson nearby.  If he sees the video camera, it’s game on . . .

I pretend to be a gruff grotesque character out of Dickens, collecting rent, like the Artful Dodger, running a stable of diminutive Olivers trawling the London streets for pences and shillings, etc.  Soli falls into high-pitch cockney, “Grandfathah, I’ve got no spending and me stomach growls like them forest wolves..."  Perfect accent.  He has the ear, like Cal.  That’s why I hired a private native tutor, “una mujer alta y delgada,” to capture that genuine sound, while Old Son sat idly by, reading a book.

Zac, the senior [no nickname yet], blond as a Swede, nearly 6 feet, runs like a gazelle each morning on the cross-country team.  Then he attends seminary at night and on Sundays.  He runs—well, because, Hell,--he’s a Texas boy. And, you guessed it, he has to run cross-country so he can play soccer.  

Zac talks too fast for my hearing most of the time.  I usually fake it, but that often leads to strange mis-hearings. “What time is it, Grandpa?” usually comes out one way and goes into my ear as “who left these things on the bathroom floor?”

Yesterday he came home from the high school college/career fair and calmly showed his mother a decal from the US Marines. “Mom.  I may or may not have just enrolled in the US Marines.  I'm not sure.  The guys were so nice, I filled out some stuff and signed my name."

After we revived Lora, quietly mumbling “Afghanistan,” Afghanistan,” several times, I thought,  laughing, “How many more "Zacisms" before my daughter stops biting the bait, like one of those big bass in Henry’s Lake?”

The Torah says, "find a teacher, then find a friend."  I'm overjoyed to be the occasional "teacher" of three lovely friends.