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SALT LAKE CITY — My grandchild, Cameron, is afraid that the mother ship has locked onto his personal signature in the space-time continuum and, if he lets his lazy eye roll, it will zap him into space.
Cameron now will not go outside to play unless he carries around a leafy tree branch to obscure his presence on the planet.
My grandson learns these “life lessons” from my son Grey, who tells everyone that he inherited his ailing sense of humor from me. He is being kind, because I didn’t do much with him as a kid. Most of the fun he had as a child was with his grandpa Anton.
The only thing I did that ranks as semi-funny (that anyone remembers) was telling Grey as a child that clapping his hands and calling out for any lost object would make said lost object appear.
This month the trouble is with aliens — the aliens that will get you if you don't eat your vegetables or your chicken nuggets, or fail to control your lazy eye.
He still, to his wife’s chagrin, walks around the house clapping and calling out for his car keys.
No, Grey’s bizarre side comes from his grandpa Anton. Yes, that Anton. The one who makes up nursery rhymes that if repeated in school get one sent to detention.
Personally, I don’t mind jokes played on kids. I think it’s something that is done in a healthy relationship — when there is a relationship established.
Many of Grey's funnies truly make me chortle. Like when a stuffed raccoon came to life on his hand and chased Cameron around the house until I put the stuffed animal in jail under a laundry basket.
Frankly, in my heart of hearts, I am OK with a startled grandkid or two because it allows me to come in to save the day.
Grampa to the rescue. Grampa should be the hero.
But the raccoon was last month. This month the trouble is with aliens — the aliens that will get you if you don’t eat your vegetables or your chicken nuggets, or fail to control your lazy eye. Think Aunt Annie sounds bad snoring? It's because the aliens got her when she fell asleep in church.
So, it’s Grey vs. Grampa to see who can prevail.
I begin by countering Grey, telling Cameron that the aliens don’t exist, that his daddy just made them up to get him to eat right, or go to bed on time, or to look straight forward.
Cameron nodded his head and smiled wanly, but wouldn’t take off his camo hat and poncho combo that he decorated with leaves and twigs. Strike one for Grampa.
Next day I tried something different — what I call the “rainbow pony tactic,” where everything is nice. I told Cameron that aliens weren’t bad. I told him that they made the stars glow pretty at night, and that was the extent of their control over mankind. As luck would have it, that evening Cameron walked in on the rest of the family engrossed in a "Chupacabra from Space" movie on the Scare-To-Death channel.
When I screamed like a little girl, as I am want to do from time to time, Cameron’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he would only use monosyllabic words like “run,” “hide,” and one his dad swears he has no idea where Cameron picked it up.
Strike two for Grampa.
So I told him the truth as I would like it to be — the truth I am trying to establish. And the truth is this — aliens can't get you at Grampa's house.
Time for the big guns. Big guns require some kind of relationship established between parties — some kind of commitment, like “I will be there for you,” or “I will not let the bad guys ever get you.” Or more simply, “You can count on me.”
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t believe me when I try to disarm the influence of aliens. I haven’t been there much to counter their attacks.
So I told him the truth as I would like it to be — the truth I am trying to establish. And the truth is this — aliens can’t get you at Grampa's house. When the Cracken was released, they (humankind) countered by releasing grandparents — which is why many grandparents are seen today and no Cracken.
Scaries don’t like grandmas and grandpas because they know that grandparents have been around long enough to tan the hide of any space invader, zombie or chupacabra.
Now when Grey comes home with a new scam he had pulled on our grandson, I pull Cameron into a corner and let him know that aliens can’t get him because he's at Grampa's house.
They have to go through me first.
Once we get this alien thing worked out, his grandmother is going to teach Cameron how to throw a solid defensive right to the chin — just in case he meets up with a real scary in an ally or at a Ute game.
When Cameron comes over and wants to go outside, I will get my umbrella and we will go for a walk. I’ll make sure that he is under a large tree, or that there is sufficient cover to obscure his presence on the planet.
Grampa throws a mighty large shadow.
--- Main Image: With an umbrella, the neighborhood kids are safe from aliens. (Photo: Davison Cheney)
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Davison writes about things he is familiar with: things like raising children, taking children to therapy, bailing children out of trouble, and trying not to beat up parents of other children when they yell at his children for not getting the basketball to their children. Read more from Davison at davisoncheneymegadad.blogspot.com.*
