"Where the Magic Happens"

By Jerry Zezima

Being a grandfather can be magical — as long as you don’t end up in jail.

That’s the lesson I learned recently when my wife, Sue, and I got together with our five grandchildren and their parents for a week in which I assisted in science experiments performed with a magic wand, was nearly bitten by a king cobra and trampled by a hippopotamus, ran around a playground to the point of collapse, was served a delicious dinner of popcorn and Honey Nut Cheerios, engaged in battles with a kung fu master and was arrested multiple times by the world’s youngest cop.

It’s a wonder I wasn’t rushed to the hospital.

But the real wonder came when my 7-year-old grandson wowed me with his science magic kit. His most impressive feat involved bending a paperclip out of proportion, dropping it in a bowl of hot water, waving his magic wand and making the clip bend back — by itself! — to its original shape.

“That’s amazing!” I gushed. “How did you do it?”

“It’s magic,” my grandson replied.

“I can do magic,” I told him.

“How?” he wanted to know.

“Whenever your grandmother wants me to do something around the house,” I said, “I disappear.”

“You’re silly,” my grandson said.

“It’s magic,” I replied.

His younger brother, who’s 5, also wowed me with his knowledge of the animal kingdom.

“Did you know,” he asked me, “that a hippopotamus can kill a crocodile with its big mouth?”

“No,” I said. “Maybe I could do that, too. I have a big mouth.”

“I know you do,” the little boy replied. “But you don’t have tusks. And by the way, ‘hippopotamus’ is a really long word.”

“That’s why his friends call him ‘Hippo.’ It’s his nickname,” I said.

“And did you know,” my little grandson went on, “that a cheetah can run 70 miles an hour?”

“That’s over the speed limit,” I said. “He could get a ticket.”

“I’m gonna give you a ticket!” my grandson said. “You’re going to jail!”

Then he assumed a karate pose, yelled “Hi-ya!” and gave me a chop to my left arm, followed by one to my right arm and ended with a kick that would have landed on my left knee if I hadn’t jumped out of the way and bumped into a chair.

After that, he went on his device and showed me various creatures, including the fox, his new favorite animal (for a while, he was enthralled with African wild dogs and wanted to be one).

“I like the black fox,” he said. “What fox do you like?”

“Megan Fox,” I responded.

“And I like the king cobra,” he added. “Watch out! If you get bit, you could die. But what’s that thing on his head?”

“A hood,” I said.

“Why does he have a hood?” my grandson inquired.

“In case it rains,” I said.

“Hi-ya!” the boy yelled in another flurry of karate chops. “You’re going to jail!”

Meanwhile, my three granddaughters, ages 11, 8 and 5, introduced me to their stuffed toys, which they brought to the playground, where I was in charge of coordinating activities that included catching them as they flew down the slide with llamas and unicorns.

I also helped all five kids on the jungle gym, ran around until my lungs almost exploded and, of course, engaged in further karate fights with the young kung fu master.

That evening, the children set up a restaurant downstairs at the kids’ table, with small chairs that Sue and I sat on, a little uncomfortably, while we perused menus written in crayon.

I chose an entree of popcorn and Honey Nut Cheerios, which was served in a plastic bowl.

“This is scrumptious!” I said as I munched away.

Sue, who had a bowl of chips, agreed.

For dessert, we had marshmallows from a box of Lucky Charms.

All in all, it was a magical week. And the best part is that somehow I didn’t end up in jail.

Copyright 2025 by Jerry Zezima