Column: For our Judah, the three ‘Evas’ are a source of love and amusement

My wife, Hedy, and I have a 4-year-old grandson, Judah, who spends lots of time with us.

Judah’s mother, Melissa, our daughter, and his older sister, Selah, 11, are around a bit too.

He’s a pistol. Daily, he charms our socks off. Put simply, we’re crazy about him.

The young rogue has six cousins, five of them females. The females keep him on his toes and somewhat flummoxed. But he loves them dearly and goes out of his way to impress them. That’s a male thing.

Three of the female cousins live in North Carolina. In his lifetime, he’s seen them only three times, each for an extended period, perhaps six weeks total. He occasionally chats with them on Skype.

Despite limited face time, he’s learned how to show off and make them laugh. He likes doing that.

Judah gets the three Carolinian sisters mixed up in his head. No big deal. So do I.

There’s Emma, 16, Ellarie, 14, and Eva, 12. They’re each tall and slim, with long, dark tresses to the middle of their backs and Southern accents sweeter than Waffle House syrup.

The belles say things to Judah, like, “How ya doin’, shug?” or “Little man, give me a squeeze” or ‘Ya’ll want some sweet tea?” He scarfs it up.

Me too.

But for the life of him he can’t remember their names. Nor can he properly associate a name with a face. At first glance they look alike: arms and legs akimbo and hair. Lots of hair!

When one of the girls walks into a room or past a doorway — well, even this old grandpa has trouble identifying her and pulling the right name from the hat.

Judah seems to have trouble summoning the names as well. So he’s come up with a clever solution: He refers to them as “The 3 Evas.”

In fact, that’s what we’ve all taken to calling them. It’s just simpler!

The 3 Evas and their mama — our daughter, Jade — will be spending time with us in California this summer. We can’t wait! The two eldest Evas were born in Orange County. The middle Eva was only a year old when they moved to North Carolina.

The youngest Eva — the true Eva — is a daughter of the South.

Judah has two female cousins in Orange County — Bella, 8, and Lexi, 6 — progeny of our daughter, Jenn. They see him frequently, so he’s no mystery. He’s more like a sinus headache. He tries to entice them with goofy antics but usually fails.

Our house backs up to a community soccer field.

Judah likes to go into the backyard on Saturdays and call out to the little brothers and sisters watching their older sibs play soccer. Judah calls them his “fence friends.”

“Hey, my house is haunted,” he yells, seeking to attract the adventurous. “Wanna come over and see a ghost, hahahahoohoohoohehehe!”

No response.

“Hey, friends! Wanna see me ride my scooter?“

Still nothing.

“I’ve got a roller coaster in my front yard!”

The other day he engaged a 4-year-old in conversation. They had a lengthy tête-à-tête. Judah’s fence friend was obviously impressed.

“Whoa, you live on a soccer field?” he enthused.

For me, it was 1955 all over again, when I thought it would be cool to live in Disneyland’s Peter Pan ride.

The soccer field doesn’t impress Judah. He’s been looking at it through our fence since he was a year old.

“Why do those people yell?” he asked me a couple of years ago. “Tell them to be quiet, Opa.”

Those were the days when he actually thought I could order things in the universe. My powers have since diminished. Opa’s no longer No. 1 in his own household, let alone the cosmos.

Judah’s only 4, but savvy enough to no longer ask me to do the impossible. My role now: interpretive Golden Book reader.

With two great-grammies, a grandmother, mother, two aunties, a sister and five female cousins, Judah knows his place.

As I know mine.

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.