Wednesday, April 18th, 2012
Gone are the days when grandparents are cool with being called Grandma and Grandpa. That’s like calling your administrative assistant a secretary. After all, this is the age of hipster toddlers.
It’s common knowledge that any grandmother going by the name of Nana or Nonna is going to be the hippest on the block. As for grandfathers, my own dad chose to be called “Pappy.”
He has been “Pappy” for Jack’s entire life… until Easter weekend. That was the first time since Jack started talking that he saw his Pappy.
When he saw my dad, he immediately called for him, saying “Papa, Papa,” reaching out his arms to be held. In fact, Jack called him “Papa” the whole weekend.
So I guess that’s it. Jack has a Nonna and a Papa. Not a Nonna and a Pappy.
Since Jack is the oldest grandchild of my parents, Papa is probably the name that is going to stick.
I think that’s a really cool name for the modern grandfather. As a child of the Eighties, I associate the word with Papa Smurf. Being that my dad has a goatee, it fits him.
It’s as if Jack said, “So listen, I totally respect the whole ‘Pappy” thing; how you wanted to be called that and all. But you see, you’re gonna be Papa instead.”
I’m pretty sure my dad doesn’t mind.
Categories: Must Read, Nostalgia, Story Bucket, Storytelling, The Dadabase | Tags: grandparents, hipster, Nana, Nanna, papa, Smurfs, todder
Thursday, April 12th, 2012
Rubik’s Cube? Check. Retro Pink Panther bendable toy? Check. Ability to walk backwards? Check. Vegetarian? Of course.
On the drive back to Nashville on Easter Day, we made our one pit stop at the Starbucks in Manchester, Tennessee. We had to change Jack’s diaper in the front seat of the car.
To distract him, my wife reached up and grabbed my Rubik’s Cube and retro Pink Panther bendable toy I have kept in my Honda Element since before Jack was even born.
(I own every episode of The Pink Panther cartoon series on DVD.)
Just as we finished changing him, a guy in a tie-dye shirt pulled up next to us and got out of his car with his family, spouting out loud to us his immediate thoughts:
“That must be a pretty smart kid you’ve got there. He knows how to solve a Rubik’s Cube and he hangs out with the ever-classy Pink Panther. Nice.”
Was it really necessary to tell the guy that it was actually my Rubik’s Cube (my best time to solve it is 2 minutes and 20 seconds) and my Pink Panther bendable toy even though I’m 30 years-old?
Nah. I would prefer for an observational random stranger to believe my toddler is truly a hipster:
Yes, that my 16 month-old son chooses to listen to vinyl records over an iPod.
That he will only wear t-shirts if A) they came from a thrift store and B) they have the year 1983 on the front; along with unnecessarily thick nerd-core glasses.
That he would grow an ironic mustache if he could.