I know the stereotypes.
When many in my Las Cruces circle of friends began to greet
our first grandchildren, we started to joke about the grandparent pod people,
our own special cult of card-carrying (and photograph-packing) proud
progenitors of the world’s greatest grandchildren.
The thing is, in my case, it’s the truth.
Honest.
With grandson Alex, it was love and pride at
first sight and a boon companionship from the get-go.
When he composed little contrapuntal
symphonies in the bathtub as a toddler, I sang along.
When two psychics told me he is the
reincarnation of John Lennon (one hedged a bit and said he might have been
Stevie Ray Vaughan), I maintained an open mind, and collected his wry, Lennon-esque
drawings-with-attitude.
It was clear from the beginning that we are
two old souls in cosmic cahoots who can leapfrog over mere generational
obstacles.
It’s true that he has occasionally acted
like a child or later, an adolescent, but then, so have I.
We are poets and songwriters who sometimes
see agonizing truths about the world, but who also dream of better worlds and
ask, “Why not?”
During the rare month we just spent
together, he continued to astonish me.
We had an in-depth discussion of the benefits
of organic remedies and exercise, and the role of serotonin, dopamine and other
chemicals in pain control.
“You pay now, or you pay later with that
stuff,” Alex said, who feels there are similar consequences when you party too
hearty.
“Getting drunk is just a way to try to
borrow happiness from the future,” he opined.
I discovered that music and audio
engineering are his first career choices, but genetics is running a close
third.
He’s excited about the potentials of stem
cell research and genetic engineering.
But like many of his generation, he is
concerned about the ecology and feels that we should be cautious about the
impact of GMOs.
If it’s something that improves life, great,
but if the only motive is corporate profits and there are side effects that
threaten or damage the ecology, that’s a different story.
“I don’t enjoy genetics for capitalism,”
rather than the greater good of humankind and the environment, he said.
My impression is that the millennials are
kind of throwbacks to their tree-hugging, protesting, grandparents’ generation,
but Alex isn’t so sure.
“I don’t understand people who say they
aren’t into politics. Don’t they care who runs things?”
One of his primary pastimes is thinking,
another trait we share.
“When I see people, I always wonder what
they’re thinking about. I don’t understand people who don’t think,” he said.
We agreed it’s something to think about.
We made T-shirts for his band, >tree, and
discussed videos and marketing in these tough times for artists and musicians.
He taught me how to voice-text, shut down
unused, energy-draining apps and explained assorted other mysteries of my
iPhone. He set up my still-in-the-box-since-Christmas Nikon and got some
entertaining shots at Cinco de Mayo.
He assembled my brand-new, super-duper,
state-of-the-art-vacuum and used nearly all of its exotic attachments to clean
places that haven’t been cleaned in longer that I wish to contemplate, let
alone admit.
Groceries that would provision me for weeks
vanished in a couple of days, supplemented by frequent trips to his favorite
burrito emporium and protein shakes after workouts. But he seemed to grow
taller, leaner and more muscular by the day. That was an 18-year-old metabolic
trick he couldn’t teach me, alas.
I’m not sure what I taught him. But I hope
our visit was a reminder that he has a grandmother who still glimpses the
soulful, funny and creative child she has always adored, and admires the man he
is growing up to be. And loves him, of course.
A lot.
S. Derrickson Moore may be reached
at dmoore@lcsun-news.com, @derricksonmoore on Twitter and Tout, or call
575-541-5450.
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