I'm Too Young To Be A Grandpa

I'm too young to be a grandpa; at least that's what I thought eight months ago when I was told about Peanut. Peanut is my grandson. I'm going to meet him for the first time sometime after 7 a.m. on Monday morning. His real name, the name given to him by his mom, is Landon Michael Stowe. But at least for now, I'm going to call him Peanut. In all honesty, Peanut was unexpected. In a perfect world Brittany woulda, coulda, shoulda waited, but things happen and once they do you forgive and accept, then make the best of the situation. But one thing's for sure, having seen the physical obstacles that have been overcome and the incredible turn-around in Britt's life since finding out that she was expecting, Peanut is a miracle baby indeed. I'm too young to be a grandpa. Brittany has told me that my new handle will be Pops when Peanut comes home to live with us. Pops. It has a nice sound . . . not too geriatric. I never had a nickname as a kid other than the one that Mr. Owens, my elementary school P.E. coach, used to call me. He'd yell, "Hey Crisco. Get the lard out!" as I ran laps around the dusty gravel playground at Midway Elementary. You have to admit that Pops beats Crisco by a long shot. Peanut and Pops. It does sound pretty good. So, maybe I'm not too young to be a grandpa afterall. I guess I'll find out on Monday morning.