by Peter Lewis

If someone asked me for parenting advice, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment. I’d tell them:

Be inconvenienced. 

For today’s busy parents, that can be quite a challenge. Frequent interruptions can be irritating when they’re trying to juggle all the different aspects of modern life. But when our two children were young, my wife Karen and I tried to be open to those interruptions—and even expect them. We tried to be ready to drop just about anything at a moment’s notice because we wanted our kids to know that they were valued and loved. 

Because the currency of childhood—what kids value most—is time. They just want us.

One day over two decades ago I was deeply concentrating on finishing up a book chapter when I felt a little tug on my shirt. I looked down into the blinking brown eyes of my tiny daughter, Amanda. 

“Daddy, can you be with me?” she asked quietly. 

Then she grabbed one of my fingers in her little fist and led me out onto the back porch. In the half-hour that followed, Amanda and I built one of the most precious memories of our (now) 29-year father-daughter relationship. And I so easily could have missed the whole wonderful thing had I brushed her aside and selfishly stuck to the task at hand. (I can’t even remember which book I was working on.)

We have been committed to this outlook ever since our children were born: The answer is yes, the time is now, and nothing is more important (with necessary exceptions noted). 

And now that we’re grandparents, it’s much easier.

We still find ways to keep ourselves busy, but we have more time to invest in our granddaughters. Plus, we have years of experiences that give testimony to the fact that it works! We have an endless stream of joyous memories built up and we are now watching this legacy being passed on to the next generation.

So now, the idea of “inconvenience” isn’t even part of the equation anymore. We look for and savor those opportunities to be with our children and grandchildren.

We recently had our two little granddaughters over for a sleepover (which doesn’t involve that much sleep, as it turns out). Busy buttoning up our old farmhouse for the coming winter, I was fussing about in the yard with leaves or lawn furniture or something when I heard a very enthusiastic question from eight-year-old Sophie. 

“G-Pa, can we play that game where we go upstairs into your bedroom and you pretend to be asleep and then we turn the lights on and you wake up and then we turn the lights off and you pretend to be asleep again?” (Sophie talks in run-on sentences like this all the time, it’s wonderfully exhausting.) 

I dropped what I was doing and upstairs we went.

Lights on, lights off, lights on, lights off, found me bouncing up out of bed and then falling back onto the bed (or floor), seemingly unconscious again while Sophie and her little sister Lexie giggled and jumped up and down on the bed and yanked on overhead lamp cords. It was positively aerobic.

Finally, the lights went off for more than a few seconds and I lay on the floor (where I had last landed) face down with my eyes closed, panting. 

“Hey, let’s pile pillows on him and then jump on him from the bed!” Sophie whispered with delight. Lexie cheered. And so I was thus piled upon. 

“We need more, Lex! I can still see his knee!” I heard a muffled Sophie shout. 

Soon all the pillows from all the beds in all the bedrooms were atop me and I was cocooned under a warm and slightly stuffy inundation of polyester and cotton. 

“Time to jump!” I heard Sophie shout, soft and seemingly far off, and a moment later those two adorable little girls dropped onto me like depth charges.

“They will remember this forever,” I heard Karen say (she was sitting in the cheap seats watching the show).

“Tho will I,” I said, painfully from under my soft heap. “I jutht bith my thongue.” 

So, be joyfully and expectantly inconvenienced.

Let the question, “G-Pa (or G-Ma), can you be with me?” become your favorite question. And let your favorite answer be, “Yes!”

Postscript: The last time Sophie and Lexie played The Game the enthusiasm was overwhelming and Karen and I later found the light cord on the floor and the ceiling light hopelessly busted. I texted my son a photo of me repairing the wiring and let him know that under no circumstances were we ever playing the light game again. His response made it clear that he doesn’t believe I’ll follow through with my new rule. He’s probably right …

Read more from Peter here.

Peter Lewis (“G-pa”) is an author, photographer and graphic designer with a passion to tell stories that encourage parents and grandparents to fall in love with the best job they will ever have. Read more and listen to his podcasts at Peter and his wife live on a farm in western Maine and have two grown children, a son and a daughter, and two adorable granddaughters.