A NEW LIFE AND A RENEWED CHANCE FOR (SHEPHERD) GRANDPARENTS

JANUARY 6, 2026 – At 12:46 a.m. today our time, we received a simple text from our younger son, Byron. “On our way to the hospital!” it read. We knew what that meant: the baby had better wait at least 40 minutes, since that was how long it would take to drive to the hospital. Time and distance turned out not to be a problem, however. Nearly 11 hours passed after Byron’s initial text before . . . “baby girl,” as she had been called ahead of time, was welcomed into the world. Soon thereafter details of the newcomer—name, height, weight, along with photos—lit up our phones.

This is our third grandchild, and just as every newborn reminds the world, she’s a little miracle—and totally helpless. At 2-1/2, her brother, with fast-expanding horizons—and inventory of toy trucks and construction equipment but also a burgeoning library of children’s books in French and English—will surely show her the way to a bright and busy future. Having observed the parents vis-à-vis their first child, I have no doubt that they will provide for her too just as lovingly and generously as they have for her brother. Until he meets his brand new sister, however, I’m betting he doesn’t grasp what’s about to hit him—knocking him out of the center of the universe . . . or at least, forcing him to share it.

But there is additional universe-sharing required here, namely with the older and wiser cousin, 10-year-old Illiana. As I see familial relations, one key responsibility within the grandparents’ portfolio is fostering close and lasting cousin relationships between and among the grandchildren. Accordingly, my wife and I must facilitate contacts, communications, and reunions between Illiana and each of her East Coast cousins 1,200 miles away. This effort will require the skill, alertness and mindset of shepherds, but the pastoral scenery will bring its immense rewards—to sheep and shepherds.

Another aspect of the grandparents’ role, I think, is the transmittal of wisdom. This is a tricky proposition, however. If the effort is too direct, too forced, it’s likely to be counterproductive. On the other hand, if the slate is blank, it communicates nothing. That leaves “wisdom by example” and “pearls of wisdom,” dropped now and again in such a way that over time in time, the grandchildren can string them together.

This reminds me of a suggestion that was made during today’s monthly Zoom call of the planning committee for my 50^th college class reunion. The idea was for members of our class to post on our online “reunion yearbook” pages, short videos of wisdom we’d like to share with our younger selves—specifically, upon graduation from Bowdoin. For what they’re then worth, we’d share the videos with members of the Class of 2026. There was general support for this, though someone suggested that the time machine should return to matriculation instead of graduation. Many of us, I think, saw . . . the wisdom . . . in this proposed amendment. After all, wouldn’t it have been more beneficial to have put ourselves on the right track before we’d set out on our collegiate journey?

But either way—conferring (presumed) wisdom on an entering undergraduate, as opposed to a departing senior—begs the two-part question: exactly what is “wisdom” and how is it best conveyed? Ditto in the case of the grandparents’ role in imparting wisdom to grandchildren. Should it be, “Read more books . . . now quiet, so we can read our books”? Or would it be more effective to give each grandchild (age 10 and older, let’s say), the framed printed words of wisdom that hung modestly in the bedroom of my immigrant grandmother, to-wit:

It is not doing the thing we like to do,

But liking the thing we have to do,

That makes life blessed.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

My grandmother never recited those lines to me or pointed them out. In fact, I don’t think I was even aware of what was inside the simple wooden frame until soon after she’d died, when with passing but memorable mention, Dad drew my attention to the quotation. “Your grandmother lived by that wisdom,” was all he said. But that statement squared with my many memories of her maintaining house and cabin to her impeccable standards, turning daily meals into an art form, and looking like royalty in dresses she’d made herself. I was only 11 at the time she left this world, but I would never forget and often recollect, Goethe’s pearl of wisdom—as my grandmother—and father—had passed it down to me.

In the case now of our grandchildren, we expect no credit for whatever wisdom we might pass on to them. But we do have a fervent wish: that by all available means, they will seek and acquire as much wisdom as they can . . . to help make this world a better place.

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© 2026 by Eric Nilsson