How was my Thanksgiving in one word? Nice. That about sums it up. It was enlightening, too. I spent it with a couple of very insightful human beings who are wise beyond their years. Even though they’ve only been on this earth for a short time, their wisdom far exceeds their combined ten years of life experience. A couple of days with them was a reset—like turning the computer off and then back on. Suddenly, everything works better.
Sometimes the biggest lessons come from the smallest teachers. Sometimes gratitude arrives in a whisper. And sometimes all it takes to reset a weary heart is a tiny voice saying, “Let me help you.”
This was the first Thanksgiving we’ve spent together. Since they were born, we’ve always lived far apart. And driving the mountains of Colorado over a holiday—navigating ski traffic and treacherous roads—is something I no longer feel inclined to do.
But now these little people, my grandkids, live a short five-hour drive away. That’s a game-changer.
They even got VIP status at our gig on Wednesday night. They’ve been to a number of our shows, but they don’t always get to see us with a drummer. As we played, I watched my six-year-old grandson lock onto the drummer’s every move, mimicking his hands and feet with absolute focus. Another grandma in the crowd tried coaxing him into dancing, but he wasn’t having it. He was busy learning. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had wandered up on stage and knocked out a killer wipeout drum solo. Kids are like that—full of surprises and jaw-dropping brilliance.
Cover my eyes and count to three, I want to see what he sees, breathe the air that he breathes. Show me something new, something beautiful. Another side of this life. A different point of view—Point of View lyric (listen to the song on Bandcamp)
On Thanksgiving day, I turned on the TV to put on a Christmas movie while Mickey created a masterpiece in his dream kitchen. Our friends had graciously offered their home so we could host a family gathering while they visited their out-of-town family. After a few minutes of watching me fumble with the remote, my grandson said, “Let me help you.”
Was it that obvious I didn’t know what I was doing? Yes. Yes, it was.
And did I already say that he is six? I thought so.
Fortunately, I quickly came to my senses and handed him the remote.
I’ve often echoed the popular opinion that kids today have short attention spans. But after this weekend, I’m pretty sure I am the one with the short attention span. I can only speak from my experience, but the kids I know are paying attention. They are soaking in information—living in the present moment—watching, mimicking, listening.
This world of AI and endless information is the world they were born into. It’s easy to dismiss something I don’t understand as wrong or even dangerous. And while it seems like things are changing at a pace too fast for me to keep up with, the younger generation seems to have a handle on it. They’re watching, learning, adapting, and noticing.
I love all the possibilities he has at his fingertips. With a powerful thirst for knowledge, the world is his oyster. Later that day, I watched him cast a fishing line with near-perfect precision—focused, not distracted in the least.
At one point, I asked if he wanted to ride with me to pick up a couple of things from the house while his brother napped. He said, “Sure.” When we climbed into the car, he told me he could drive. He said he’d done it once with his dad. So I said okay. His feet didn’t reach the pedals, but he sat on my lap, left the footwork to me, and he drove.
Being a grandparent is one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. It’s easy to get discouraged about the state of the world, and my own mind is relentless in reminding me of all the things I should worry about. But time with little ones reminds me there isn’t much I need to be concerned with beyond what’s happening right now.
And right now, the sun is coming up, the furnace is humming, Dennis is stretching with his feet up in the air, and I am deeply grateful for every person in my life—near and far. And if I need some help with the remote, I know exactly who to call.
Thank you for sharing a little holiday reflection with me this morning. I’ll leave you with one more warm, fuzzy moment:
As the two boys were sitting at the kitchen island drinking hot chocolate, the 4-year-old looked up at his mom and said, “Thank you for making hot chocolate for me and brother.”
And just like that—in the smallest voice, and in the simplest words, my world was softer, lighter, better.
Sometimes the biggest lessons come from the smallest teachers. Sometimes gratitude arrives in a whisper. And sometimes all it takes to reset a weary heart is a tiny voice saying, “Let me help you.”
❤️😘