I have promises to keep for my grandkids

I recently experienced a poignant personal moment.

My wife, Hedy, and I were in North Carolina visiting our middle daughter, her husband and four of our eight grandchildren. Our youngest daughter and her two children accompanied us.

Altogether, there were 11 of us in the house.

One night, our kids and grandkids broke out the karaoke machine. Hedy and I sat and watched and thoroughly enjoyed the fun. There was a surfeit of laughter.

Midway through the “performance,” our youngest daughter, Melissa, 38, sang the duet, “For Good,” from the musical, “Wicked,” with our oldest granddaughter, Emma, 16. It was pure magic. “Wicked” is a particular favorite of both girls.

Melissa is a trained singer, and began taking private lessons in elementary school. She has a beautiful voice and has sung in numerous musicals and extensively with church worship groups.

She’s the only one in our extended family who can sing — or so we thought.

We didn’t know until the other night that Emma (our youngest daughter’s niece) has a natural and beautiful voice as well. She obviously didn’t inherit it from me, or her grandmother, or even her mother (our middle daughter). Somehow, her “auntie” must have passed along the singing gene.

Anyway, they sang the unrehearsed duet together, and it was pure magic. The raucous crowd in the family room was stilled. The moment was breathtaking.

When the duet was over it received wild applause. I did what any self-respecting grandfather would do. I cried.

I learned that tears can bring big bonuses, however. Huge rewards! My granddaughters all rushed me to comfort me and wipe away my tears. They couldn’t stand to see Opa cry.

The girls, in fact, laughed at me and cried at the same time.

No one can bear witnessing an old man blubber! Hedy just rolled her eyes.

I used to be one of those guys who lived always in the future. I was forever planning and strategizing for what was to come. Anticipating.

Not anymore. When you come to realize that much more of your life lies behind you than in front, you’re forced to recalibrate.

At 72, I’m, at best, in the late autumn of my life … and more like mid-winter. If I can’t finally live in the moment now, well, there doesn’t seem to be much to hang my hat on.

I was in the moment the other night in North Carolina.

It seems that becoming a grandpa 18 years ago, being diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease 11 years ago, and retiring from a wonderfully satisfying 37-year career at Orange Coast College nine years ago, have all factored into “my metamorphosis” … gradual though it be.

I see things differently.

My grandkids are the most important things in my life. The time I have left must be devoted to them. I’ve been assigned the grandpa role, and must play it to the full. No more empty clichés from this cowboy.

My grandkids are destined to live in this world for the next 70 years or so. I’ve got to help prepare them, and lend my perspective. I owe them that. I’m required to put my arms around them whenever I can, and communicate to them that they’re deeply loved.

I won’t always be here.

“…We are migrants due, when the time comes, to fly away to other more commodious skies,” said writer and Christian apologist Malcolm Muggeridge, who was then in his late 70s or early 80s.

“I love the idea of dying,” he continued. “I love the idea of one’s life coming to an end. Curiously enough, it makes life seem infinitely more beautiful than before, really.”

Life for me now couldn’t be more beautiful. Soon and very soon, as the old hymn goes, I’ll be taking wing.

I never knew my maternal grandfather; he died when I wasn’t even a year old. I’m told he was smitten by me. How different things might have been for me had he lived until I was 40 or so? Instead, he died at 41.

I have promises to keep.

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