At some point, before I knew what was happening, I became a husband. I didn’t know what I was doing and I reverted to toxic maleness again. I did that repeatedly, and ended up with the title, “Serial Husband.”

Serial Husband was pretty easy. I just had to be a husband for a while, and then give up half my stuff before being re-toxified. I forget the math, but losing half of my stuff three times means I don’t have anything.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this phasing in and out, I was in the Dad phase. I really didn’t know what in the world to do. I must have not been too bad, because the authorities never got involved with my parenting, and I’m not the subject of a book called “Daddy Dearest.”

Well, not yet, anyway.

A few decades later I entered the “Grandpa Fun Park,” and it was, in fact, fun. Alas, even grandkids grow up and quit being in awe of my every word. I bemoan their maturity. I no longer have anyone to watch “Spongebob” and “Phineas and Ferb” with. I have no reason to climb the rock pile by the ball fields, or to creek walk at Burrell Park. Nobody wants to ride in the bed of the truck. Life is tame, and a little boring.

Now, one of the Grandkids finally got with the program and ordered their own child, I think from Amazon. Now, everyone moves up a notch. The kid becomes a parent. My kid becomes a grandparent. I graduate to Great Grandparent. What does that mean?

Great Grandpa. What a concept. Not mediocre Grandpa. Not so-so Grandpa. I will be Great. I have excelled at granding.

Parents have lots of responsibilities, like food, and shelter, and education, and discipline. Grandparents also have lots of things to do. They complain about the parents’ effort providing food and shelter. They insist the education has gone awry, and offer frequent and insistent alternatives. Grandparents are sure that the grandchild’s discipline is really abuse, and work hard to negate the parents efforts. I have become fluent in all of those grandchild-rearing languages.

As a Greater Grandparent (the best one, and everybody knows it), my responsibility transcends all others. Firstly, I have to teach the legends and lore of our people. For example, he (or she) needs to know that we did not come over on the Mayflower. That was too easy. We came from England on water skis behind the Mayflower. This was exceptional because we had to slalom for 66 days, and we actually had to invent water skis. Our family was the first to “jump the shark.” That’s how awesome our family is.

The kid must know our legacy. We invented kites so Ben Franklin could hang a key on it. When the founding fathers wrote the Bill of Lefts, we convinced them to call it “rights.” Who taught Daniel Boone to explore Kentucky and invent “Boone’s Farm” wine? We did. Would John Kennedy have run for president without our ancestor goading him into it? Not likely.

Another thing the kid will learn is that Star Wars sucks. That franchise is fake news. However, Star Trek is the real deal. 100% of intelligent people prefer Star Trek. It’s a window into our future, and the scripts are actually used as blueprints by NASA and Space X. I know for a fact that the show’s food replicator gave rise to food vending machines. My new progeny will learn all of this.

Lastly, I have to teach the Great Grandkid that I and Great Grandma can never go to a “home” unless it’s theirs.

Great Grandparents. They’re for when families finally get it right.

Fini.