A Visit From a Man-Child

Grandson dropped in for a weekend visit, and honestly, we mostly just sat there blinking like a pair of porch-possums caught in a flashlight beam while he regaled us with tales from his globe-trotting life. His job takes him everywhere—places we have to look up twice to spell—so we got the full download: world cultures, shifting opinions about America, and, naturally, the serious essentials… like how terrifying it is to need an Uber at 1 a.m., and which countries serve tea that tastes like actual tea versus lightly-used bathwater.

As I watched this confident, well-spoken adult hold court in my living room, I felt a tug of nostalgia for the tiny fellow he once was. The one who would burst into “Bob the Builder” songs at random, or yell “Yes, sensei!” with all the swagger a four-year-old can legally possess. The boy who wanted to “play games” and had us reaching for the board-game shelf while he marched to the computer, confused why his grandparents didn’t understand that games meant digital warfare and animated explosions. The little adventurer who once dressed like a pint-sized Indiana Jones with a buddy in tow.

And, of course, the infamous Target moment—the one we will lovingly tease him with until one of us is in assisted living:
“Grandma, who are your children? I don’t believe I’ve met them.”
A classic. Instant family legend.

Funny thing is, his favorite activity when he visits now? Playing cards and old-fashioned board games with us. Well, well, well… look who has joined the analog world.

Now he stops by fresh off flights from exotic places, tossing around words like “navigating customs,” “international SIM cards,” and something called Pulsar—which, disappointingly, turned out to be a professional tool and not a Star Trek weapon. He orders actual grown-up drinks with dinner. It’s like the changeling phase is over and the full-grown adult has arrived.

We dropped him at the airport, and on the drive home I found myself missing both the impressive young man who had just been here and the little boy who used to ask existential questions in the checkout line at Target.

But then we walked into the bedroom and found our canopy bed partially entangled with those ridiculous sticky hand slappers. Turns out the little dude hasn’t gone anywhere—he’s just tall enough now to stick things nearly to the ceiling.