My four year old has developed a disconcerting fascination with grandfathers. Not just any old grandfather either, more specifically the one he has completely fabricated.
“Grandfather” (not Pop or Granddad) takes my son to all sorts of fancy places. They visit dinosaurs, sometimes they go to the beach.
Yesterday “Grandfather” wanted to download a Scooby Doo movie on the iPad.
Initially I thought the preoccupation had come from spending time at an aged care facility where my mother works but I think it’s a combination of several factors some of which include The Land Before Time, kinder pick-ups and the fact he is somewhat lacking in real grandfathers.
I’ve taken the approach of “Cut that nonsense, grandfather didn’t buy you a four foot stuffed Brontosaurus” as opposed to “My poor grandfather deprived child is reaching out to explore his feelings of inadequacy” but it’s still a little unnerving.
Last night I decided “grandfather” needed a name. After throwing him a few names lifted from authors off the book shelf, we settled on Mario (thanks Mario Puzo). Mario’s pretty awesome because he comes with a brother “Fuigi”. So now we’ve got “Fuigi” to contend with as well as “grandfather”.
At bed time, my son told me a sweet little story about Grandfather Mario. He went surfing with Fuigi and was set upon by a giant shark. My son took a photo with his camera. I’m not ashamed to admit I needed a cuddle after that nursery rhyme.