The Dynamic Duo

Families are funny.

Within every family unit, there are cliques and subgroups that function as their own entities, families within the family.

One such unit is a clique of two. It will always be two.

James McCallum Sr. (Grandad) and James McCallum III (Jim).

If, by some cosmic act of whatever, I sire more children, they will be loved, they will be cherished, and their paternal grandparents will offer them the world.

The clique will still be two. Initiation will be almost impossible for any comers.

I have written before of the misadventures of Grandad and Jim, which usually turn out just fine, as long as I am not around.

If I am around, disaster strikes. No, disaster usually strikes ME.

Jim and I stopped by my folks’ house last night for supper. Well, Jim stopped by to eat. I eschew meat every Lent, and sadly, cooking at my parents’ house these days is limited to what is tasty, nutritious and liked by Jim.

If Jim doesn’t like it, it does not get made. He is like that kid Anthony Fremont from “The Twilight Zone”. He merely lives with his mother and me in our respective residences. His home planet is Grandad’s house.

It is Grandad’s house because in Jim’s world, women do not own real estate. They do not wash cars. They do not clean house. They do not barbecue. They do not fix things. They do no yard work, nor the budget. What they do is prepare and cook food, stove only, and bake cookies, read stories and the like. Oh, they serve the men in their world. They love little boys, but we don’t want too much of that because it gets in the way of video games, trains and watching all ten seasons of “Married with Children.” Nice little third world country Jim’s running there.

I remember once, when he was three, I rang the doorbell at my parents’ residence. Jim opened the door as if the place were his (which I am sure is the case per someone’s will), smiled and said, “Come in!” Grandad was to his left. Guess they were practicing hospitality that day. They let me in and then whispered among themselves, nodding at me when I took off my shoes. I could almost hear the conversation. “Yeah, he’s big but he has home training. Let him in but watch the fridge…”

Those of us with children know parenting is difficult enough, but the support system grandparents offer is invaluable. My father retired the year Jim was born and suddenly began discovering this person who liked toys, games and the mental workings of conniving toddlers. Jim runs Grandad’s world, and it’s OK. Real talk? The last person who got my father to do things he didn’t want to do was some USMC drill instructor forty years back. Then came Jim. Suddenly, a man who I never saw bend became logically flexible. It’s funny. I have watched my father and Jim debate the merits of an extra helping AND desert at supper.

I think I have seen my father eat four times in my adult life, but on Planet Jim? We eat because Jim eats.

When it came time to buy a new car, the guy at the Jaguar dealership who had the sense to include Jim in the deal got the sale. Jim was not happy about the purchase of the Jag. He liked the big red truck. That is another story. Anyway, the enterprising young salesman offered Jim a big, plush jaguar with teeth showing and gave him chewing gum. Jim nodded. Grandad signed. The car has been the Jim n Grandad mobile ever since.

My father took my brother and me everywhere as children. He is a history buff, so we went to museums, old settlement reenactments, and the like. Weekend memories, up until I could get away, are of the four of us traipsing around railroad museums and the like.

Jim and Grandad do that stuff, too, but now Jim tells Grandad what exhibits they will see.

I wrote once of going to the Museum of Science and Industry with them. Never again.

They had their own interests, their own displays, and when we walked into the old fashioned ice cream shop and the dish behind the counter smiled wide, I realized she was looking past me when she said, “Hi Grandad! Hi Jim! The usual?”

Oh.

I watched them eat their ice cream. I had water when they suggested I get yogurt.

They are never mean, nor condescending. They are entirely too cool for that. Jim and Grandad have a way of letting you know, “Hey, it’s our world. Welcome to it. Leaving so soon?”


Recently, I was with Jim and Grandad as they ate supper. My mom made taco salad, forgetting I do not eat meat during Lent. That is fine. Although I hate chocolate I will make it a point to munch a candy bar in her face sometime before Holy Thursday to show her how it feels.

Not that it matters. We sat at the kitchen table, taco salad stuff laid out on the stove, fully prepared, for about forty minutes.

“Uh, what are we waiting for?” I asked.

They looked at me as if I had asked whether all dogs have four legs.

“Grandma,” Jim said as an explanation. He gave Grandad a look that asked, “Are you sure this guy shares DNA with us?”

“Why? She’s not eating this stuff.”

“Someone has to make it for us and serve it,” came my nine year old’s retort. Oh. Next time just say, “B comes after A and before C, Stupid-O.”

“It’s been forty minutes…”

“Let’s make sure she’s OK,” Grandad said, rising from his chair.

Gee. It’s been forty minutes. No word. My mom could be asleep. Or worse. They would not notice until meal time. Because, of course, putting taco meat and veggies in a corn bowl topped with sour cream is rocket science.

Apparently, Mom was busy. They then proceeded to assemble their own taco salads. Originally, only Jim was going to eat, but he was so fascinated with the way Jim put his salad together, “Just like Applebee’s! You’re good, man!” that he decided to eat as well. While eating, Jim generously offered me pieces of his bowl no bigger than his thumbnail. “Want some shell, Daddy?” Beat it kid. I offered to have a glass of milk for supper. Grandad pulled a bottle of Oberweis out of the fridge. “Oh, yeah, there’s enough here!”

It amounted to a quarter cup. Jim drinks tons of the stuff with the sugary cereals Grandad lets him eat for breakfast. I tried to remember my mother’s rants about sugary cereals, television and the like from my childhood. Apparently, these people are now senile. Both Grandad and Jim found my enjoyment of a quarter cup of milk just too humorous for words.

After supper was over, I bested Jim and Grandad in several games of Uno. I still play Uno the old fashioned way, one card at a time. Jim was taught by some other kids, and he in turn taught Grandad, so they both play the wrong way. In my book. And according to Uno rules.

On top of that, they cheat.

“Hmmm, I’m about out of blue cards…”

“Hey, Buddy, if I do this, will it change the color to yellow?”

“Yeah Grandad, but put down ALL of your sevens, starting with the blue one, and leave the yellow one on top. Thanks.”

“Thanks Buddy.”

Hello? Third player here?

Yet they always lose.

They have their scams, where they drop Reverse cards to unload their Skips, Draw Twos and Draw Fours on me. Grandad always runs interference if he thinks Jim is gonna lose. It never helps. When Jim does lose, Grandad proceeds to let him have a dessert of Doritos and Snickers. For the record, I knew neither existed until I went to college. They were never in my parents’ home.

My mother and I have discussed being left out, and we have reached the conclusion they are truly Dr. Evil and Maxi Me. I wrote that correctly. It’s like on planet Ork. The small ones are the evil wise ones. The big ones just go along for the ride. The rest of us merely serve to provide them with random acts of kindness and pity. Oh, and an audience for karate tournaments and baseball games.