DOWN HOME: No, I’m not a grandpaw

A couple of issues ago, I wrote a column about crossword puzzles, and I spelled out the name of Avery, the 1-year-old child of our friends Matt and Lindsey, who live in Chicago.

After the newspaper went to press, I felt badly about it. That’s because I misspelled Lindsey’s name. It’s correctly spelled L-I-N-D-S-E-Y, and she grew up with our oldest daughter, Lindsay, whose name is spelled L-I-N-D-S-A-Y.

Unfortunately, my fingers went on autopilot, and I spelled her name the way we’ve spelled our daughter’s name for 25 years. (Come to think of it, misspelling may be one reason I’m such a lousy crossword puzzler. Naw. It’s because I don’t know such important things as the capital of Uzbekistan or Charles de Gaulle’s middle name.)

Well, bad as I felt about the misspelling, I recorded the column for Baptist Standard E3, our enhanced electronic edition, and I moved on.

Then I moved back.

Because a few days later, I started getting congratulated for becoming a new grandfather.

Folks who have been paying attention to this column for awhile know my wife’s name is Joanna, and I call her Jo, and our daughters’ names are Lindsay and Molly.

When some of them read about Lindsey’s baby, Avery, they assumed I was talking about my grandson. Of course, they might have noticed the Lindsey in the column is married to Matt, and our Lindsay’s husband is Aaron. But, you know, keeping up with sons-in-law is hard to do.

Well, let me set the record straight: I’m not a grandpaw.

As far as I know, Lindsay’s not pregnant, and Molly’s not even married. So, we don’t have any grandprogeny on the horizon.

When the time comes, be sure, I’ll let you know. I’ll make what is known in theological circles as a BIG DEAL out of it. You won’t have to doubt or wonder. You’ll know.

Meanwhile, I don’t feel old enough to be a grandfather. Of course, I’m almost as old as Pop (Daddy’s father) was when I was born. And I’m two years older than Popo (Mother’s dad) was when I came along.

That was then; this is now.

I always thought of my grandfathers as old. And I don’t think of myself as old. Not yet.

I can still get up and go run, and I weigh about what I weighed when I graduated from college. When I’m alone in the car, I still like to crank the sound up when a classic rock song comes on.

Maybe I’m just in denial. Wouldn’t surprise me. Baby Boomers have fought aging tooth and nail. We won’t go quietly into that good (old) night.

Sometimes, however, I remember how much fun I had when our girls were little. Life is great when you’re hanging out with a child. So, maybe I’ll get used to the idea of being a grandfather. Just give me a little more time.