‚ÄúDa-aad!  You never let us do anything like that!" That was said in a totally bewildered, perplexed and almost angry disbelieving voice of someone who has just witnessed an impossible event.
A small child, probably three to four years old, was using a wooden spoon under the kitchen cabinet banging away on anything in there. Then the grandfather turned to the daughter and, with amusement in his mature voice said, “ I had to raise you kids, I am going to enjoy my grandkids." Case closed.
Realizing I am not the only grandfather out there and realizing that almost all grandkids are beautiful, talented, Mensa potential and All American in athletic ability, I offer this piece. If one thinks about this phenomena, one has to be struck by the fact that the genius gene skipped a generation somehow. 
From the boy who couldn't tighten a screw properly nor check the oil in his own car and thought math homework was a plot to end the world, comes forth a child of epic IQ and the ability to reason beyond Plato. Of course, Grandpa takes the credit as his people have always been well above average. OK, except for his younger brother who remains suspiciously as a member of another species.
Sitting around the “old fogies" coffee table in the morning can be a lesson in human behavior that social scientists have missed. Most of these early risers are retired or otherwise unemployed and free to stay until the last story is told. Sometimes those stories have different endings so one has to pay attention to the details to see how far off this new version is. Many of the stories involve grandkids and especially grandsons. When a grandfather is fortunate enough to live close to his grandchildren and interact with them, the world is a better place for both of them. I'll get to the others later, stay tuned.
One thing I noticed after I had the freedom and luxury of going to a coffee group was that stories about grandkids involved their physical abilities. “Yessir," one grandfather would pipe up after the subject of children came into play, “my grandson is only three years old and can already hit a ball with a stick. He hit that ball all over the living room yesterday and almost never missed."
He didn't mention how many times he was hit by the stick and probably forgot the bowl that no longer sits on the coffee table in the living room. But his grandson will surely be another Micky Mantle. This sort of thing continues across the table with each child mentioned becomes more capable of extra-ordinary feats of physical athletic ability.
So how can a guy like me tell them that I have a much better story?  I am sure this type thing also happens to some of them but they are afraid/embarrassed to tell it.
At our Bunny Cake Day celebration when the first great-grand came, he immediately came up to me and held up his arms for a hug.  When another G-G-son came, he wanted a ‚ÄúPop hug" and, you can bet, he got it. After all the festivities, as many of us were sitting on the porch, the 13 month old came to me and held his tiny arms up. He rested back against me and then sat up and spent a long time surveying his newly found kingdom from the safety of Pop's lap. This Great/grandpa thought: ‚ÄúIf I died right now I know Heaven couldn't be any better than this." Right, I know that I probably do not have to worry about what Heaven will be like as... Nevermind.
But I do not understand the opposite of that. You have heard, I am sure, older men say that they were not having anything to do with grandchildren. “I raised mine and I sure (blankety blank) am not going to raise theirs." It is amazing to me, and most people I know, how anyone can have this attitude. What gene, molecule or brain wrinkle is missing to cause someone to miss out on one of the greatest joys of anyone's life. That is their future and they refuse to help shape it. Hmmm, maybe that's it. They were rotten people and they don't want to pass on rottenest. I guess we should thank them for that.
If my grands/greats never participate in any athletics nor never play a musical instrument, they are mine and I will join the crowd that spends their coffee morning saying, “Say, did I tell you about Billybob getting two hits off that pitcher from Wazamahcallit? Well, he did!" And then we all listen and don't compare to yesterday's telling of the same story.