"The Fab Five"

By Jerry Zezima

What happens to an immature geezer whose five grandchildren meet for the very first time and spend the better part of a week splashing at the beach, romping at a family reunion, gawking at sea creatures in the aquarium, riding the carousel, going out to lunch and otherwise having the time of their lives?

Answer: The grandfather has even more fun than the kids do.

The aforementioned geezer, it should be noted, is yours truly. And I am proud, happy and slightly delirious to say that the child’s play did me and my wife, Sue, a world of good, even though Sue, the kiddies’ grandmother, has long known that I’m the biggest and most playful child of them all.

The Fab Five — three girls and two boys — are cousins, although the oldest two (9 and 5 years old) are sisters, and the youngest three are siblings, the oldest a boy, 5, and the others twins, a girl and a boy both (of course) 3 years old.

I may be terrible at math — not the case with the grandkids, who are CPAs (child public accountants) compared to me — but I somehow have it figured out.

The adventure began with a visit by the youngest three, who arrived (with their parents) after midnight and awoke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 6 a.m., which is more than the grown-ups could say, at least not without large doses of caffeine.

The much-anticipated moment occurred after lunch, when we all drove to the home of the oldest two girls, who had met the oldest of the youngest three when he was a toddler but who had never met the twins. They all hit it off immediately, which was wonderful to see, even through heavy-lidded eyes because the caffeine was starting to wear off.

It was replaced by adrenaline when four of the five cousins went to the beach, where I was the flotation device for kiddies who kicked, bounced and splashed in the sand, sun and surf while I attempted to keep my head above water and hoped not to be eaten by a shark.

After a day of drying out (from water, not beer, which was consumed after the kiddies went to bed), we had a family reunion with 18 people: all five grandchildren, their parents, my mother, my two sisters, the three grown children of one of my sisters, the wife of one of her sons and, of course, Sue and yours truly.

It was the first time my mother, who is 97 and is sharper than I am (so are house plants, but Mom is still impressive), had been together with all of her children, all of her grandchildren and all of her great-grandchildren. She had more fun than anybody.

The fun continued the following day, when Sue and I went to the aquarium with the five children and their parents. I found out why I wasn’t food for sharks at the beach: They were swimming in a huge tank, where they eat fish that are, I am relieved to admit, more appetizing than I am.

Then we went out to lunch at a seafood joint.

“Are sharks on the menu?” I asked the waitress, who looked at me as if the theme from “Jaws” was running through her head: Dumb-dumb, dumb-dumb, dumb-dumb, dumb-dumb.

I had an appetizing fish sandwich instead.

The final full day of fun and frolic was spent at the carousel, where the Fab Five rode the horses and tried unsuccessfully to grab the brass ring. On one ride, I leaned over and nearly fell off but managed to get one, which in the wide eyes of the children made me — you guessed it — the lord of the rings.

We again went out to lunch — nothing new for me because that’s where I always am — before heading back to the house of the oldest two grandchildren, where the kiddie quintet and I, together and separately, jumped on the trampoline.

My legs were rubbery for the next 24 hours, by which time the youngest three and their parents had departed for home.

It was a magical week. And the only one to have more fun than the grandkids was a certain immature geezer who proved to be the biggest kid of all.

Copyright 2022 by Jerry Zezima