Doing our part to broaden our grandson’s culinary experiences

Emmitt B. Feldner  for The Review

What are grandparents for?

For one thing, we’re here to make sure that our grandson has the chance to eat donkey poop when the opportunity presents itself.

Aiden was with us for a few days over the weekend while his parents were at the funeral for Julia’s grandfather, so it turned into a long weekend in more ways than one.

It meant he had to go with me Saturday morning to cover the Memorial Day ceremony in a nearby village.

We got there about half an hour early and I parked downtown, next to the village park, figuring he could play for a few minutes before we walked over to the veterans memorial for the ceremony.

Although he’d found a few new friends to travel on the park’s train engine with, he came along as we headed to the ceremony – not realizing that it was a halfdozen block walk or more.

It meant that, at every corner, he would ask how much longer – and I would tell him one block less than the last time he asked.

It also meant that I had to buy him a bottle of water when we fi- nally reached the memorial – and find him a spot to sit in the shade of a tree, something else I’d had to promise him on the walk over.

He sat patiently through the ceremony, playing in the mulch underneath the tree, but he apparently paid some attention, telling several people – including the village president and the school superintendent – after it was over that his daddy is in the Army, just like the speaker at the program.

It was nearly noon by then, so I had to buy him a brat at the brat fry after the ceremony to fortify him for the walk back to the car.

When we got back home, he decided he wanted to go for a walk to the park – apparently he hadn’t had enough quality park time yet.

That meant another walk of a half-dozen blocks or so, there and then back again, so by the time we finally got home after spending an hour or so at the park, Aiden informed me that he was hot and sweaty.

And also tired, as he had no trouble going to sleep that night.

Sunday, we were all invited to a high school graduation party for a neighbor – who also happens to be one of Aiden’s buddies on the block.

The party was at the ski hill, where Aiden has already spent lots of time with Mee-Mee and Poppie, so he made himself right at home.

He did nearly ruin the Frisbee golf game set up on the hill when he tried to retrieve the discs for the players, but we explained what was going on and he let the discs be wherever they landed.

They had a pinata for the younger kids – a donkey – and the graduate and his brothers decided to stick a couple of Tootsie Pops and an unwrapped Tootsie Roll on the rear of the pinata.

They told Aiden it was donkey poop, which he thought was just great.

Aiden got the first whack at the pinata and, of course, knocked the poop off the donkey’s rear, which he immediately claimed.

He ate the donkey poop with great delight and took even greater delight in telling everyone at the party that he had just eaten donkey poop.

Fortunately, I was there to explain what he meant, so no one lost their lunch or reported me to the child welfare people.

It did make it interesting later in the day when his parents came to pick Aiden up.

Julia had barely sat down when I informed her that her only son had eaten donkey poop earlier that afternoon.

She gave me a look that was a mix of revulsion and uncertainty – after all this time, she knows me well enough that she just might believe I would allow or even encourage her son to eat donkey poop.

I explained it to her before she grabbed Aiden and ran out the door, vowing never to leave him in my care ever again.

That’s a good thing, because donkey poop is just the start of all the wonderful things Aiden’s grandparents can introduce him to.

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