Grandparents and grandchildren can grow together

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 02/03/2026 (218 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

When my now five-year-old grandson was younger, we enjoyed an easygoing relationship, the kind often represented as idyllic in popular media culture — harmonious, reciprocal, restorative.

We would walk the woods together, gather berries, cavort. He ran towards me when I appeared at his door, asked me to sit beside him at meals. We shared bowls of purple grapes while we built garages out of magnet tiles, “assisted” one another in the garden, drew pictures, consulted about the weather and planned possible treats.

Over the last several months, however, our relationship has changed as his personality and behaviour develop. He is less favourably inclined towards me and more unforgiving if I misstep or mistake boundaries that are important to him.

I had picked him up for years from his daycare, for example, but when he moved to a new school this fall, he became increasingly upset if I, rather than his mother or father, came to get him.

I tried to ride his disappointment and the outbursts that accompanied them, but one day he’d had quite enough. He dissolved in the hallway, yelled, hit. I could barely control him.

His most loving elder sister, who was part of the after-school pick up, joined me in trying to manage him into his car seat. He lashed out at both of us. I told his sister not to worry because I was tough and could figure it out. She looked at me, smiled knowingly and graciously, then observed, “Baba, you’re not tough.”

That’s true. I am not.

I was sad, stymied, unsure of what I might do to soothe and reassure him, still hopeful we might re-establish the ease we once enjoyed. I consulted his parents, resources, even entered my concerns as part of an exploration with ChatGPT.

At the same time, his father tried to figure out why his son “hated” me. An answer emerged: One day, when he was sure his father would pick him up, plans were modified without his knowledge (consent), and I appeared instead. He felt betrayed. As much as his father tried to provide a context for the change of plans, my grandson remained steadfast, unmoved.

I re-examined what might be required of me; my ongoing research invited me to consider becoming a “soft” Baba by regulating my own expectations, adjusting my behaviour and giving my grandson the space to do the same. Softness and space-giving encouraged me take better care of how I was triggered by his outbursts. That meant exploring my own vulnerability as well as his.

I learned, as my very wise daughter-in-law suggested, not to take what I felt as his “hostility” personally.

While as vulnerable to rejection as any human being, I separated out my hurt feelings and engaged more respectfully with the regulatory skills my grandson was developing in his own way. I made crucial connections with the violence relevant to my own childhood experience and the triggering that happened when my grandson expressed his anger.

I learned to stay in the present, breathe, remove myself to another room as needed to recover my equilibrium. I refused to catastrophize when I felt rejected and tried gifting us both the berth we required and deserved.

His anger was not about my worth or our bond, but about the intricacies of self-regulation that pertain to both of us.

As I rebound by breathing and rebalancing, I recover my most mature self and deepen my admiration for his sensitivities, his evolving and unique way in the world, his orientation and interests. I step back, wait, and pay close attention.

I ask if he might allow me to be in the same room, even sit beside him. I am never sure, but I attend as best I can. I improvise, resist feelings of inadequacy, temper my own disappointment because I can no longer enjoy the earlier rapport we had established and open myself to a new wavelength that grows in concert with this present, his expression, our needs and understanding.

And then a day comes. My grandson asks if I might pick him up from school. We manage. I discover, when I visit — and only when he is ready — that he may share his passion for sports-related analytics. Trusting this opening channel, he invites me to a hockey game with him and his father, adding there are a couple more we might attend.

As this little boy and I move toward a different footing, I enjoy a growing faith in myself and an irrevocable faith in him, for I am sure we will find our way. Gently and carefully, we reconfigure our shared space, release changing patterns and pioneer new forms of ease.

Love can do that. How magnificent is the opportunity.

arts@freepress.mb.ca