Down Home: Grandfather and grandson, a tale of two laps

When I was a little boy, one of my favorite places in the whole wide world was sitting “in the hole in Popo’s lap.” More than a half-century later, I’m enjoying a similar relationship from another perspective.

Popo was my mother’s father, or as I might’ve said it back then, my mama’s daddy. He lived in a small town in northwestern Oklahoma, and we lived in the Texas Panhandle, about 135 miles away. So, we saw each other fairly regularly. This was fortunate, because I believed the best day began waking up in Popo’s and Grammar’s guest bedroom and ended sitting in the hole in Popo’s lap, watching TV.

Popo created the hole in his lap by crossing his legs with one ankle resting on the other knee. It created the perfect recliner for a little boy who adored his grandfather.

Years later, I’ve been amazed he let me sit there so long. His ankles must’ve been way tougher back then than mine are today. I think my foot would go to sleep and feel like falling off. But Popo never seemed to mind, and I always felt secure and happy in his big ol’ lap.

I thought about Popo and the hole in his lap the day after Thanksgiving, when my almost-5-year-old grandson, Ezra, and I went out to the movies.

We figured we’d rather watch The Peanuts Movie and eat pizza than stay home and look out the window at the pouring rain.

We arrived at the theater in time to catch the trailers for every child-appeal movie scheduled to come out between now and next summer.

I pulled off my coat and cap and stuffed them in the chair beside me and plopped down. Ezra just stood there.

“What’s up, buddy?” I asked. “It’s OK to sit down. Right here. Beside me.”

“I want to sit in your lap, Marvo,” he told me.

“Well, that’ll be fine,” I replied, lifting him into my lap. (I’m not as terrific a grandfather as Popo, because I didn’t create a hole in my lap.)

Ezra leaned back against my chest, crossed his legs above my knees and burrowed in. When the trailers ended, I asked if he wanted to sit in his own seat. He shook his head quickly, placed his hands on my forearms and stared at the screen. I didn’t ask again.

Ezra laughed out loud at Charlie Brown, Lucy, Snoopy, and the whole gang and all the sight gags Peanuts fans have been laughing at almost since I was his age. I enjoyed the movie, too. But the best part was the proximity to my grandson, who normally lives four hours away but occupied the same space for about two.

Since our trip to the movie, I’ve pondered which I’ve loved more—being a grandson or a grandfather. Both offer wonderful delights. Pure, undiluted fun and joy. The primary difference, of course, is knowledge and attendant concern.

When I was sitting in Popo’s lap, I could not fully appreciate that moment. I couldn’t imagine being a father, much less a grandfather. And I couldn’t comprehend Popo’s life was any more complex or the world any less wonderful than our love and our time together.

When Ezra sits in my lap, I try to will myself to think only of that moment. And it is splendid. But I also recognize the complexities of life and growing up and living in a chaotic, changing, unpredictable world. Of course, I also appreciate the grace and beauty of redemption, reconciliation and renewal that Ezra never will fathom until he also experiences brokenness and disappointment and sorrow.

I know all that—pain and ecstasy, joy and sadness, laughter and tears, faith and doubt—lie ahead for the little boy in my lap. And I pray. God Almighty, do I ever pray.