Little white lies of grandfatherhood

I’ve been a grandfather for 27 years, and I have 18 grandchildren, so I should know better.

There are times when trying to be a good role model and remain a doting grandfather are difficult, to be sure. I may have mentioned before that my wife and I baby-sit grandchildren two days a week. It certainly is fun most of the time, and it is eye-opening all the time.

You were too busy making a living when your own children were little. You don’t even remember how they grew up so fast. One day they’re toddlers, and the next they are getting married.

Growing children have questions about everything, and grandparents are expected to have the answers to all of the questions. I have an especially inquisitive 4-year-old granddaughter who has been coming to the “farm” since she was 1.

She has explored all the animals that she has encountered. Never has she been afraid of handling the animals unless they were extremely larger than she. At 1 year of age, she chased baby chickens around and around the manure-covered chicken coop trying to catch one so she could pet it. She learned when to quit chasing chickens by cornering them in the coop. If they could peck their way free, she gave up on them.

Lizards, snakes and frogs were pets to be handled, mangled and enjoyed. She became particularly fond of a painted turtle that climbed out of a pond and lived most of the summer with us. She was very disappointed when we informed her that we had set Timmy free down near the pond.

Last summer, during one of her excursions, she found a tree frog. A tree frog differs from an ordinary frog in that when you kiss it, it doesn’t become a prince. Lola found that out firsthand. Tree frogs have the ability to leap great distances and swim like an ordinary frog; but, unlike ordinary frogs, they can climb trees, or houses, or cars, or anything they want to climb. They have suctions beneath their legs and feet and can change colors to blend in with whatever they attach themselves to.

My granddaughter, Lola, became attached to a tree frog she found at the farm, and against my better judgment, I let her take it home, where after a few days it died in the makeshift home it was provided. I felt bad about the sadness but chalked it up to a learning experience.

Unfortunately, Lola found another tree frog at the farm this year. It had attached itself to our hot tub on the deck of our house underneath a large tree. The frog would climb under the cover flap, where it would be cooler and wetter in the hot day sun. Here Lola found it hiding. She immediately grabbed it and needed a carrying box with air holes for breathing so she could spend the afternoon playing with her newfound friend.

Immediately I began wrestling with the question that I knew was coming. “Can I take the frog home to show Mommy?” I didn’t want her to experience the same grief and turmoil that was created last year. I began to run through my mind the words I would use to keep her from taking the frog. She wasn’t happy and argued openly with my decision, but finally acquiesced.

I convinced her that her buddy would be waiting for her next week if she would simply put him under the hot tub cover. She reluctantly complied.

Just before it was time for Lola’s exit for home, she wanted one last look at her buddy. So Grandpa raised the lid to the hot tub and sure enough their lay the frog attached, looking somewhat under the weather. Lola screamed and began crying. “He’s dead, you killed him!” she screamed.

I lowered the lid and assured her that he was not dead but only looked that way to keep the cat from killing him. She wasn’t really buying it; but, she has always relied on Grandpa to tell her the truth. Why would he lie to her now?

How do you stop? Do I tell the truth or concoct another tale to avoid her pain? I can look hard for another tree frog and hope she can’t tell the difference. What a wicked web we weave!