No! She's Not My Granddaughter!: A Survival Guide for First Time Older Parents

By Ken Jahns

A salty, sarcastic, belly-grabbing tale of what life has become for Ken Jahns, who, at forty-seven, became a first-time daddy. Far from a fluff piece professing his love for his daughter, the author takes us on the unpaved road that every parent must traverse. He takes us on the ups and downs and trials that go into raising a child at an advanced age. Utilizing patience and a humorous parenting style, he takes everything in stride even while chaos reigns all around him. While he loves his daughter with all his heart, she still drives him absolutely crazy. Life at fifty is hard enough; try living with a toddler.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546270645

Ken Jahns

no ATA

Book preview

The What

Is she your granddaughter?

Is she my granddaughter?! Is she my granddaughter?! Are you speaking to me, you freakin’ idiot? You think she’s my granddaughter? These are all things I want to say. Does she look like my granddaughter? Well, yes. Yes, she does.

The first time you get asked that, it is similar to dealing with a death. You go through stages of acceptance. First I get angry. Then I enter the stage of denial. Then I accept the fact that I had my first child at the age of 47—and I certainly look my age—and finally I shift into acceptance, eventually moving on and answering the damn question.

I am older than most parents, and definitely look it. I am not that guy that took real good care of himself and goes around with a pocketful of Viagra nailing thirty-year-olds. I am forty-nine but I look fifty-nine, and have the hard life to prove it. I have never been the guy you walk up to and say, Forty-seven? Wow I never would have guessed.

No, I usually get, Forty–seven? Are you sure?

The fact is, due to my family history, I never believed I would live to forty, let alone have a child nearing fifty. Thus, I was not prepared.

Ten years earlier, while watching my nephew, I had gotten the same question. Playing with your grandkid, huh?

Grandkid?! Hey! Hey, listen here you jerk! No, no damn it!

I was more defensive back then because I certainly didn’t think I looked like anyone’s granddad at thirty-five. I was also caught off guard. I was watching for the fastball when he hit me with the curve.

The truth is both my wife and I are older first-time parents, and had we done things like normal people, Lily would be our grandkid, and this book would be irrelevant. We could enjoy her company then send her back to her parents and get some sleep. However, we are anything but normal, and our story is much different than others. Lily is indeed our daughter.

Is she your granddaughter?

I still haven’t answered the question as I try to gather my thoughts and decide which direction I want to take. Close to fifteen awkward seconds have gone by, though it feels like an hour.

No, I finally respond, not wanting to offend the woman. Deep down, I know it’s a fair question, but I still want to pop her in the head.

This is my daughter, Lily. I am a first-time older parent.

What could she say? It’s like asking a fat girl if she’s pregnant. Once you say it, everyone knows what you think.

Oh, I’m sorry, she replied.

That’s okay.

I’m old, but at least I had something in the tank you old bat, I thought to myself.

That’s okay. She should be my granddaughter This is my mantra whenever that question comes up. It is my attempt to defuse the situation preemptively. I even try to head people off by introducing Lily as my daughter right away so I don’t have to hear it.

I continue, We never expected to have children. She is our miracle child. Now, when you hear that you would assume that we were married for years, had tried to get pregnant for a long time but couldn’t. Then, after several visits to the doctor, with plenty of fertility treatments, we were subsequently blessed. That is what you might think, but it wouldn’t exactly be the truth. My wife and I had been together for close to two decades, but we hadn’t tried, we didn’t expect it, and we were very surprised—but for entirely different reasons.

I’ve come to expect the question and try not to blame people when they hit me with it. Being bald doesn’t help either. It’s when it happens to my wife that I become really confused. If anything, my wife looks like my daughter. She’s six years younger, but looks even younger than that. You would think I have money if you saw us together, because she resembles a trophy wife. I know that because when my wife was getting an endoscopy with her mother and I in the room comforting her, the nurse told her how lucky she was to have her parents there. I almost choked on my own bile. I would like to forget it ever happened, but my wife likes to remind me of it often.

Remember that time I got my endoscopy…

Yes, dear. Remember that time you fell down the steps in our apartment and the next day I made a police outline of a body on the floor with yellow tape, Ginger Rogers?

Meanwhile it has also happened to my wife and I at the same time, which befuddles me. Once we were at our favorite Mexican eatery when the young kid who worked there asked, Is she your first?

Yes, as a matter of fact, she is! I told him, excitedly.

Oh, that’s awesome. It must be so much fun to have a grandkid.

Yes. Wait! What? No, this is our daughter!

Oh, I’m sorry, okay then.

As he walked away I spoke to my wife. What did he just say? Wow—me I understand, but you? Remembering the endoscopy affair I was offended, but deep down I was glad she took a hit too.

What I wanted to say was, Are you nuts? Does she look like a grandmother you mouth breather?! But that would’ve only kept the attention on us. We just wanted to move on. Plus, it seems to only happen when we aren’t prepared for it and we have our guard down. The question always comes unexpectedly, and we are left with that grandma surprise look, when grandma draws her eyebrows too high, and looks perpetually surprised.

As much as I want to scream, I know it is a reasonable assumption. Not many forty-seven year olds have a baby unless their adult child is in jail for meth. It has actually helped me when the situation is reversed. I know better now. If I see someone that is obviously a grandparent, I still won’t go there.

Is that your son?

Heavens no, this is my grandson Aiden.

Okay, okay, grandma, I knew that was your freaking grandson. I was just being nice so enjoy the moment.

Sometimes I mind and sometimes I couldn’t give a damn. Sometimes I feel bad for my daughter knowing she will go through the same scenario. The first time I pick her up at school, or for a social event, she will get asked the same question. I just know one day I’ll go from Cool Dad to Could You Please Drop Me Off At The Corner? Dad. I hope she won’t get teased or feel ostracized. I also feel bad knowing I might not be there for her as long as her friends’ parents might.

My wife has good genes and her Nana lived till she was 96. Her mother is in her 70’s and is very healthy. Lily should have her mom at least 40, maybe 50 years. I can’t say the same for myself.

I get upset with myself knowing what a selfish life I’ve led, and often lament on all the time I’ve wasted and now I may miss important milestones in her life. I might become ill when she is young due to the bad choices I’ve made. But it is what it is. I try to believe that this is the way it was supposed to happen for me, and that my wife and I would not have survived marriage and children at any other time than now. Had we been married earlier, we might have imploded, gotten divorced, and just be a memory to each other by now. Who knows? So for now I do my best to stay present and deeply involved, I am healthy, and I try to make the most of every moment I have with my daughter. The advantage I do have is I am much more mature, and appreciate the little things so much more than I did when I was younger, heck, even just a few years ago. I understand the gifts and blessings I have, and try not to waste time on what I could have done. The past is out of my control. It is what it is.

The child I hold in my arms nightly should have been my granddaughter. I had my first, and, currently, my only child at the age of forty-seven. I look at her and marvel that she is mine. The fact that she is even here is a miracle in itself. Parenting is awesome as well. It is gratifying, humbling, exhausting, draining, and tantrum-filled. It is a fifty-mile marathon each and every day. For every bad, mischievous thing she does, she does fifty cute and wonderful things as well. Sometimes you’re the warden, and sometimes it’s like having a puppy that can talk. Being a parent is like working for the Secret Service except the president is suicidal, and instead of going home after your shift, you have to stay awake all night in case the President drops his pacifier and starts to scream.

Becoming a parent is the one event that helps you appreciate your parents. You understand why you got that spanking, and that grounding, why my Mom seemed so frustrated, and why I got those extra chores, and speeches. Why they fussed over the smallest things and why they worried so much. Why she always seemed exhausted, and why she got angry when I didn’t listen. I started to see my mom in a different light. Parenting is the hardest thing you can attempt to do, so if you don’t have kids, do not judge those who do. Anything you think you will do, you probably won’t.

Parenting is not for everyone. Having become one, I’m not certain if it’s for anyone. I don’t go around all day humming show tunes or skipping to my Lou or anyone else’s Lou for that matter. There have been moments when I regretted the whole thing and wished I were single again. When I work fifteen straight hours and then come home to a screaming child who keeps me up half the night, all to return to work for another fifteen-hour shift the next day, I start to question my decision making. When she wants to be held for two straight hours at night I want to abandon her. But Lily wouldn’t be who she is if I weren’t who I am.

You see, my father died when I was three and he was 33. It was always in my head that I wouldn’t live past the age of 33 or, if I did, and had kids, that I wouldn’t live past their third birthday. I had a lot of fears. I was also afraid I had waited too long and my window may have closed. I wondered if I could even produce a child, and if so, would it be healthy. So I try to appreciate the little things. Don’t get me wrong, I still complain about little nuisances in my life, but I have come a long way in the art of shifting perspectives. It is why I don’t like to miss out on any appointments or social functions, milestones or accomplishments.

Would I have liked it if Lily had been born ten, fifteen years ago? Sure, I would be much better off physically. When I was 20 I thought I would be married young and have 5 children. When I was 30, I just wanted to beat my dad and have three. Now? Now I’m just happy with what I have. Would I like more? We would love another so Lily can have someone to play with.

I was angry with myself when I turned 40. I had wasted so much time. It would have been one thing if, after college I had accomplished something, started my own company, or used the time for career advancement. I had done none of those things. Basically, I retired for twenty years after I graduated. But I had one advantage. I had the right woman. It wasn’t like I had to go out and find someone. Trust me, that’s the hardest part. The problem was, we weren’t talking about it. I lived the life of a rich playboy without the travel or the money. I always wanted to have children. I have plenty of love in my heart and patience in my soul, and who doesn’t want to leave their legacy in this world?

When I was younger, I would have told you that having a child at 47 is crazy, stupid, and even selfish. Something you would do more for yourself than for the child. I remember hearing Tony Randall had a child at 77. I felt bad for both of them. When you’re older, you better have plenty of younger relatives to help, or at least be rich enough to hire a nanny. However, if Lily had been born earlier I would not be having this much joy right here and right now. If she had been born earlier, who is to say she would be the same kid, with the same soul and personality? So then, I wouldn’t have wanted her at any other time. It is what it is, and if it means changing one thing about her, I wouldn’t change a darn thing. If it meant I wouldn’t be holding this child, just as she is, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Parenting at any age isn’t for everyone. I am tired, yet I am also reinvigorated, and more purpose-driven. You have got to be crazy, insane, a little off your rocker even, to try and have a child at this age. The sheer energy it takes just to keep up and stay awake would make any 45-year-old question their thinking.

For the last two years, three counting the pregnancy, I have been on quite the ride. My house for two has become a home of three. My wife and I have seen changes in our lives that we never dreamed possible. We have experienced great highs, and dark lows. We have been both fortunate and blessed.

We were once Ken and Stephanie, and now we are Mommy and Daddy. Not a single day is uneventful and no time has been short or easy, but no lives have been more content than they are now. Having a child, and talking about having a child, is the difference between writing a book and copying one—except now we’ve added a new chapter. It takes a tremendous amount of work, but at the end of the day, it will have all been worth it, and you will feel like you have accomplished something meaningful.

Our story is not death defying, nor is it tragic. Like everyone else we faced obstacles, distractions, long odds, and life itself. Through perseverance and determination we faced them down. It is our story, and it is unique. Everything in the world is relative. Our path has been winding, our journey long, and our road unpaved, and, if you don’t mind, I would love to tell you all about it.

The Why

How did it all start?

I’m glad you asked. Get your popcorn ready and sit up. This may take a while. Like any history lesson, this one spans many years—two decades in fact. And also like most history lessons, you won’t understand the what if you don’t know the why.

You might be wondering, why is this pertinent? Well, your relationship with your spouse will do more for or against the development of your children than any other factor. Your relationship with your spouse will affect them more than anything else they will encounter in their lives. When I learned my wife was pregnant, I told her the best lesson I could impart to our child was how much I loved and respected her. Because I knew our baby was a girl, I was determined to show her what she should expect from a man. Then maybe, just maybe, she would respect herself, want great things for herself, and expect the same thing from her partner. She wouldn’t settle for anything less, and she might keep relations with people in her life who would help her rather than hold her back.

Without a strong relationship between you and your spouse, your foundation will crumble. Anything and everything you build could shatter. Your spouse should be your confidant, your rock, your motivator, and your best friend. Relationships are guided by the experiences you go through together. The lessons you learn along the way and the wisdom you acquire help determine who you are and how you handle things. The sum of all these things determine the path you ultimately choose. Your struggles are your own, and they provide you with all the life lessons you need to learn. Our circumstances are unique to us and helped