Grandparents get awfully old, and then they die. But first they coddle you, you're not their problem so they can afford to be nice. Our maternal grandfather was always magically producing tootsie rolls out of his ears and giving them to us. He was a nice guy, owned an antiques shop where you were guaranteed to always find something cool, whether it be a sword cane or a hookah.
Some grandparents are just downright unsavory. Our first wife's grandmother chewed her meat until she'd extracted all the juices from it, then spit the pulp into a napkin. Talk about you unappetizing spectacles. We'll never forget the Thanksgiving we spent seated next to her at the dinner table. While everyone else was chattering away she leaned over to us and whispered, "You know how they kill turkeys? They slit their throats!" She was a downer grandma, and was always complaining about her lot in life, but she had an excuse in that she lived alone in a high-rise in East Orange, New Jersey.
It doesn't look like we'll ever be a grandparent, and that makes us sad. We would love to have a couple of grandchildren we could give reckless advice to. Your own kids you have to caution about all possible dangers; you have to be a conservative. Your grandkids, though, you can encourage to run right off the rails. "Quit school, kid, it's a waste of time." "If I were you, I'd buy a Harley Davidson and join one of those gangs." "Pot never hurt anybody." "Crystal meth, never did it. Try it and let me know what it's like."