SOME ARE born great, some achieve greatness and some have granddad status thrust upon them. I am one such soldier, a role for which I was totally unprepared and I suspect there are many more men like me.
There really should be a special handbook written on how to be a proper granddad. There are books on how to be a lover, husband, wife, parent and even the general manager of a company, but not a single paragraph on how to be a real grandda.
First of all you have no control on whether or not you become one. You can decide to be a lover, husband, wife, mistress, father or mother or a messer, but not being the granddad of a clann.
Since the arrival of granddaughter number one six years ago, I have come under increasing pressure and criticism on this undefined role. In fact I have been told on many occasions I make a disastrous granddad.
All the lrish and other literature I have read about granddads portray them as kind, bearded, pipe-smoking, mint-smelling, lovely creatures who stay in the background dressed in dark clothes dispensing goodwill and support.
They are a sort of like an everyday Santa Claus, smiling often and saying little. They give good advice, small amounts of cash and sweets, speak only when spoken to and sometimes smell of whiskey.
Now some of these key granddad attributes I would willingly take on. I have the beard and have been known to smell of alcohol on occasions, but to be destined to stay quietly in the background, dispensing advice and small change, is another thing altogether.
Kate, the first of my five grandchildren, and the first grandchild on both her mother and father’s side of the house, has china blue eyes, blonde ringlets, the comprehension of a 21 year old, is a DVD addict and loves fairytales.
I first got in trouble with her in a row over Cinderella’s ugly sisters. I thought, this being the kind of non-judgmental world it is supposed to be, that I should rise up in defence of these ladies. I thought this is what a real granddad would do.
I told her I thought the ugly sisters were beautiful and Cinderella was a rather plain and silly girl – and all hell broke lose. Now in the argument which followed, she drew a bead on me with her laser blue eyes and in no uncertain way told me I was an idiot.
Even my best honed arguments put forward in the interests of equality, decency, fair play and beauty being in the eye of the beholder, did not sway her one inch. I clearly lost row number one.
It could only get worse and it did. We were having a learned discussion one afternoon about Goldilocks and I put forward the theory that Goldilocks was nothing more than a common thief and housebreaker.
Kate had to concede that indeed Goldilocks had come uninvited into the home of the three bears and had eaten their porridge. But under no circumstances would she accept for even one minute that Goldilocks was a thief.
After all, the victims were only bears.
I warned Kate that in the real world, young ladies could not go around the woods, walk into what appeared to be a deserted house and sit down and eat what was left on the table because there would always be consequences and anyhow, I liked bears, who have their rights as well.
Having failed there, I withdrew from grandparenting duties for a time even though the incident did spark a lot of familial debate on the status of Goldilocks – outside of Kate’s hearing, of course.
Anyhow, it gets worse. Having decided to stay away from fairytales for a while, I went out and with great difficulty, purchased a large pack of marbles. Many toy shops refuse to stock them because they say children could choke on them. I don’t know how we survived at all.
I showed Kate the basis of how to play marbles and we went down on the carpet and began a game, she at one end of the room and I at the other with a big marble on the floor in between us which we were attempting to hit with a specific number of shots.
After about five minutes, granddad was well ahead and this was not going down too well. I was instructed to go to the kitchen to fetch her a glass of milk and when I returned, she claimed she had not only equalled but surpassed my score by at least five.
When I suggested she was being economical with the truth, had moved so close to the target marble she could not miss it and anyhow people should not cheat at games, she was outraged.
“Children are entitled to cheat,” she told me. “Big people are not and anyhow, you are the most annoying man I have ever met.”
I suppose I should have left it at that but when she scooped up all the marbles, took them away and said she was never playing with me any more, I suggested she might be related to Goldilocks – and that row started all over again.
All I am saying is there should be some sort of guidelines for people like me. And by the way, she still has to return the marbles. They were mine, not hers.