Robinn singing “Happy Holidays”

My granddaughter Robin lives in Brooklyn, I love her and her mother, my daughter, greatly. I have not seen either of them in months, and I can’t bear to talk stupid to her on Facetime.

I’m not sure when I will see Robin next, we keep stumbling around when it comes to dates.

We will get to know one another face-to-face, or not at all.

I was talking to one friend this morning, she volunteered that some people are just not good at family.

She asked me if I was good at family, and I stuttered and stammered. Most of the time, the answer is no. But I wasn’t sure how to answer.

I gave up lying to myself – or to others – some years ago, and it gets me into  loads of trouble, but it is just me, the way I am.

I gave up trying to be somebody else.

Robin’s other grandparents live thousands of miles away, but they see her much more than I do and for longer stretches. And they love going on Facetime every week to talk with her.

My ex-wife, her grandmother, takes care of Robin one day a week and babysits when Emma and her husband travel. Once a week, I try to send Robin one of those Apple Emojis – a dog, cow, duck or dragon – she probably knows me as a strange face that talks and jiggles his eyes.

If there was a Great Grandparents Club, they would all be in it.

Another friend had coffee with me recently, and he suddenly blurted out that “I’m a terrible grandfather.” He only sees his grandson and granddaughter once a month or so, he said, they live about 90 minutes away, on the southern edge of the Adirondacks.

He never has the time to spend a lot of time with them.

He asked me, of course, how often I see my granddaughter. Ummm… I said, my life is complicated, not as much as I would like.

I thought about this a lot today. I know I am not like the other children, or the other adults. Robin is a wonderful child, and I dearly wish we lived closer, but it is hard for me to get to New York regularly. The last time we met, we had a blast.

Leaving the farm is a major undertaking, and so is navigating the cities.

I teach classes and make regular visits to the Mansion and  on my refugee aid excursions. Last month, I had six doctor’s appointments for dental work, diabetes maintenance and visits to the cardiologist and family practitioner (also two blood drawings). And I’m health!

Getting around New York City is increasingly daunting for me, the last time I did it, I had a low blood sugar episode running for the train home, which I had to board without any food.A good Samaritan loaned me half of is blueberry muffin.

I have always loved New York, but lately, the place just seems like a madhouse to me. Still, if somebody wants something badly enough, it happens. That’s the truth about it.

Taxis are insane in traffic-clogged New York, and the subways wear me down before I even get there. I’m a wreck with jangled nerves when I get home.

New York is expensive, when I go, I need to find a place to rent, there’s no room for me in Emma’s apartment.

And then, I’m not good at hanging around.

Robin is two,  and she is busy in only the way Brooklyn-raised children can be. I’m not sure what to do with myself.

It’s not easier to spend the kind of time with her that would help me to know her. And she has visited the farm with her mother once. She didn’t much like the donkeys.

Emma is a wonderful mother and  Robin is a happy, confident and fulfilled child. As many of you know, I’ve been trying to figure out my role as a grandfather ever since Robin was born, and I’m not there yet.

I better hurry before I keel over and die, which is inevitable before Robin gets to college. I hesitated to turn down the Terrible Grandfather’s Club, not many clubs have  ever invited me to join.

We have friends her in  town who pick up their grandkids at school every day, and can’t hardly wait to baby-sit them and feed them and take them places.

Is something wrong with me for not wishing to do that? I have nothing bad to anybody who loves caring for their grandchildren, it is a loving and beautiful thing. But I don’t ache to do it.

In our culture, we are often made to feel that “something is wrong with us,” when we deviate from cultural and social norms. We celebrate the individual in our national history but crush them in our political and medic life. The Corporate Nation does not permit  or allow much individuality.

I will figure out the grandfather thing, and so will Robin I suspect, and probably before me. I would be happy if nobody sent me grandparent tips or advice. This is something for Robin and me to figure out, nobody else. I am happy for your good experiences.

The point of all this is I need to accept who I am.

It’s not a question of who I love or how much, it’s a question of how  I live. It doesn’t matter what other people might do, it matters what I might do.

I was jolted when my friend (the second one) asked me if I wanted to join a “Terrible Grandfather’s” club. This jarred me, was I so bad a grandfather that there was a club I could join? Why was I being invited?

Some people my age tell me grandparents are the best thing that has ever happened to them, that it alters and defines their lives. Much as I love Robin, I do not wish to define her life, nor do I think her mother would want that either.

That grandparent thing is  sweet and uplifting, but I don’t care to turn my life over to anybody, even a grandchild, the center of my life is right her on this farm and in this town.

I have fought hard for my life and I want to keep living it, it  damn near killed me  getting here.

What I told my friend was that I didn’t think of myself as a “Terrible Grandfather,” and I hoped he would drop the label himself. We are who we are, that is as good as we can get or be. That doesn’t make us terrible, and that is not a label I would brag about.

The jury is out on my grandfathering, Robin is young and full of life I am old and not all that far from the end of my life.

What I’m not going to do is feel guilty about who I am.

The good news is that I have a daughter who would never try to make me feel guilty, she understands it is hard for me to come, just as I understand it is hard for her to come way up here dragging a two-year on the train or renting a car for the trip.

We never manipulate or guilt-trip one another. She will come when she can come.

I know Emma does want Robin to know her  grandparents, she was never close to hers.

I appreciate that she wants that very much. I will  have to figure out how to do it and handle my life.

I don’t want to be in the “Terrible Grandfathers Club,” it doesn’t seem like a healthy club to me, or one that is fun. I’m not buying into making somebody else’s kid, even my daughter’s, the centerpiece of my life. And no one is inviting me.

Emma and I have worked hard on accepting one another, and I have worked hard on accepting me. Perhaps I’ll start an Accept-Who-You Are club, we could Skype on meeting days.