One of the many things I loved about parenting when my kids were young and living with us was the opening up of new universes based on interests my kids developed. If they got involved in gymnastics--as my daughter did--it was up to us to get her to practices, cheer her on at meets and shuttle her to the orthopedist when the injuries occurred. But we also learned a whole lot about the world of competitive gymnastics. (Fortunately, this was well before the evils of sexual abuse at the elite level surfaced.) It was a fascinating world we never would have known about if our daughter hadn't had her heart set on the Olympics--a desire that faded when she turned thirteen and found she preferred the piano.
I thought back to those days when Paterfamilias (above) and I Metro-ed to Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington D.C. to rally for gun control. We were one of the 800,000. We believe fervently in the need to get military weapons off the streets, out of homes and far, far away from schools. But we also felt we were there on behalf of our grandkids--none of whom live in the Washington area.
They were equally--if not more--involved in the issue. They protested and gathered in their own cities with their friends. They didn't need us to show them the way, but we felt we were there for them--supporting them in a cause that effects them on a visceral and immediate level. #EnoughIsEnough.
Plus we got them tee shirts. That's also what grandparents do.
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