Descendants

On Sunday morning, a bit before noon, a taxi collected our California son, his wife, and their three children, ages four to almost ten, and took them to JFK for their flight home. They had stayed with us for four days. During that time, we abandoned all hope of following a normal routine, indeed any routine at all, and devoted ourselves to our guests.

Breakfasts lasted much of the morning as one by one our descendants awoke. Our grandchildren never wanted to eat immediately, needing time to collect their thoughts and to prepare their digestions for Honey Nut Cheerios, with skim milk and bananas. Our elder granddaughter, who will be eight in a few months, cheerfully announced that she never eats anything that she hasn't eaten before, but fortunately Honey Nut Cheerios and bananas are on her approved list. Our younger granddaughter, four years old, would usually be ready to eat only after the table had been cleared and the food put away.

Our children would take their kids off for some activity during the afternoon, and then we would all eat dinner together, mostly at home but once at a restaurant. After dinner, our Brooklyn grandson, almost twelve, who spent much of each day with his cousins, would play chess with our other grandson. It was a pleasure to see them together, hunched over their chess board, contemplating their next moves.

But the greatest pleasure afforded by our grandchildren, it seems to me, has been the opportunity they've given us to observe our children as parents. We've passed on the baton, so to speak, and we're grateful that capable hands have grasped it. Our kids represent a considerable improvement over their father, who was much less relaxed and patient with them than they are with their children.

My reactions to my grandchildren's behavior during their visit reminded me how uptight I was as a father. When my granddaughters were throwing a large ball back and forth in our living room, I had to clench my fists to prevent myself from being a killjoy and asking them to stop. There are no priceless antiques in that room, I kept telling myself, and if the ball hits a pot and breaks it, so what? It won't be a Ming vase.

At the restaurant in which we ate our last dinner together, our younger granddaughter wandered off to an unoccupied table. My impulse was to go after her - maybe she would disarrange the cutlery! I had to remind myself that she was my children's responsibility, not mine, and that messing up the cutlery would not constitute a Class A catastrophe. Just as she hadn't broken anything when throwing the ball around, she didn't touch the table or its setting. That my children survived my nervousness testifies to the importance of a child's having two parents. The chances are good that at least one of them will be sensible.

Four days is a short stay when your house guests are your children and grandchildren, not seen for the past six months. Just as we felt elated when they arrived, we felt deflated after they left. Alone, in a strangely silent, empty apartment, we started to restore it to its status quo ante, missing them and looking forward to their next visit.