Published: May 08, 2008 08:22 pm         

Publisher’s Notebook: Being a Papaw comes with pressures, rewards

At 12:05 a.m. on Friday, May 2, I officially became a Papaw. It feels strange to type the name and to hear someone refer to me as Papaw. It won’t take me long, however, to wear the name like a comfortable pair of slacks.

Nicholas Matthew Sawyers was born at St. Joseph East in Lexington to proud parents Matt and Jenni Sawyers. He weighed just over nine pounds. I’ve got pictures if you want to see them. The family came home on Sunday and everyone is doing great.

I pitched in and did my share during Jenni’s 18-hour delivery. I ate, slept, shopped, read magazines, surfed the Internet, ate and slept some more. I also made regular visits to the nearby Baskin-Robbins for two scoops of Nutty Coconut. Childbirth is hard.

But now the most difficult part begins, as I figure out what type of Papaw to become.

I’ve got little Nick right now, and in a few more months, I’ll have a little girl looking at me to supply the kind of nurturing only a Papaw can provide. I’m sure the answers will come, just as they did when I became a father for the first time.

I know I’m supposed to teach my grandkids important things in life, like how to hunt and fish. But the only problem is that I don’t hunt or fish.

Fishing has never had any allure for me. I don’t see the point in dropping a line in the water and waiting patiently for hours in hopes some slimy creature will attach itself to it. I barely like to eat fish, let alone play games with them.

It also goes back to my aversion to killing. That’s why I don’t hunt. I’m the type that will spend 20 minutes and risk a lot of pain to remove a bumble bee from the house instead of squashing it. The only birdies I hunt are on the golf course.

I also don’t have a lot of war stories to tell my grandkids. I can’t imagine keeping their attention very long when they ask me to tell them a bedtime story, such as: “Before we had computers, I had to put the newspaper together by hand using scissors and hot wax.”

But what I do have is some great examples of how to be a good Papaw. I took a lot of mental notes watching my father and father-in-law nurture their grandkids. I will do well to emulate them.

My Dad carried kids and grandkids on his hip for more than 50 years. He’d still pack them around if he was physically able to do it. He demonstrated unlimited kindness and patience.

He’d stop whatever he was doing to be dragged by the hand to see the kids’ latest invention or to do something with them.

My father-in-law, Papaw Jim, was an extremely intelligent man who spent countless hours in long, detailed conversations with my kids. When Matt was 5 or 6 years old, Jim and he would delve into world politics or the latest stories in U.S. News and World Report.

Papaw Jim also kept a stash of cash specifically for his grandkids to buy them expensive sneakers or clothes that their parents wouldn’t or couldn’t buy.

I will strive to be like both men. I will pack my grandkids on my hip and take them wherever they want to go. I will get out of the TV and have meaningful conversations with 2-year-olds. I will shower them with gifts and spoil them with my love and affection. I will smell like pipe tobacco.

And I will relish being their Papaw.