When Love Skips a Generation

I took Asher to a playground yesterday. My grandson likes to go to a local park that has a sandbox. It’s big enough that he can use his shovel and rake to make roads for his Hot Wheels cars. Occasionally, he buries them and forgets where they are hidden. I expect that some other four-year-old will play archaeologist and find the cars later. Fortunately, Asher has a plethora of toy cars, so it’s not a crisis if he loses one.

While we were at the park, Asher decided to play on the monkey bars and swings. Other kids were there too. Another couple—about my age (old)—arrived with their young boys. I didn’t pay much attention to them at first. Then I heard someone call my name. I turned away from Asher and saw a tall, grey-haired gentleman smiling and walking toward me.

I didn’t immediately recognize him. But as soon as he greeted me, I knew who he was. He didn’t look the way I remembered, but his voice was the same as it had been years ago. His hair was steel grey and brushed back, and he wore black-rimmed glasses. It took a moment to match the man standing in front of me with the coworker I knew over a decade ago.

We talked for a bit while watching our grandkids. Like me, my friend is caring for his grandsons—though his arrangement is part-time. My wife and I are Asher’s guardians, so he is with us always. My former coworker looks after his grandsons every other weekend. That’s still a big commitment.

As we made small talk, he brought up his son. I had met his boy once, a long time ago. From what I remembered, his son had struggled with drugs. I didn’t want to pry, but my friend brought up the subject himself.

He told me this about his son: “He passed away a couple years ago, back in 2022. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was shot and killed.”

Ow.

How does a father deal with that? My own dad buried two of his sons. He never got over it. One of my brothers died in a freak car accident. The other died of a heart attack. But how does it feel when a child dies due to an act of violence? How does a parent come to terms with the fact that a son or daughter has been killed by someone else?

One answer to that question is that the parent cares for the survivors—or as my friend calls them, “innocent victims.” The grandparent fills the void left by the absence of their own child by taking responsibility for the children of that son or daughter. There is a generation gap, and someone has to bridge it.

As I reflect on this, I realize how common this situation is. My friend and I aren’t the only grandparents—or older people—caring for small children. I had a friend in a Bible study group who was raising her grandson. The boy’s parents were addicts and had abandoned him. The grandmother died relatively young from cancer, and her husband adopted the boy.

I also have a younger brother who, with his wife, is raising a boy. The lad is the grandnephew of my brother’s wife. His biological parents are both deceased. My brother and sister-in-law adopted the little guy.

There are many reasons why a child’s parents might be absent. Some reasons are dramatic; others are not. Sometimes the absence is temporary; sometimes it’s permanent. Regardless, the child needs someone to provide love and protection. That may mean an elder must step in to raise another generation.

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Frank (Francis) Pauc is a graduate of West Point, Class of 1980. He completed the Military Intelligence Basic Course at Fort Huachuca and then went to Flight School at Fort Rucker. Frank was stationed with the 3rd Armor Division in West Germany at Fliegerhorst Airfield from December 1981 to January 1985. He flew Hueys and Black Hawks and was next assigned to the 7th Infantry Division at Fort Ord, CA. He got the hell out of the Army in August 1986.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.