Thoughts: Helping grandchildren grow

I used to lift our grandson up so he could ring our doorbell. After about a year of this, he was on his tiptoes, stretching—and reached it on his own. His new stature is a form of literal, easily measurable growth, like growth in height, weight, or muscle mass. 

Under ordinary circumstances, grandparents have very limited influence on literal growth of their grandchildren. Even when it comes to metaphorical growth—like growth in skills—parents, teachers, and peers typically have more influence than grandparents. Still, from time to time, grandparents can lead or inspire grandkids in remarkable ways.

What can a grandparent do?

My maternal grandfather once helped me grow. I was in the 6^th grade, an obedient, good-student type, well-versed in learning from, rather than questioning, parents and teachers. My teacher at the time was what I would soon learn to call a hawk. But at the time, I simply believed him about the domino theory as rationale for the Vietnam War, and also about its being ridiculous that Hindu people didn’t eat their cows. When I reported the latter sentiment to my gentle, art- and nature-loving grandfather, I was taken aback by his rebuke that we have no business judging other people’s choices. Two eye-openers: Wait! My grandfather can rebuke me! Wait! My teacher can be wrong!—and then the open-minded content of my grandfather’s reply got me started growing toward asking questions and seeking answers (plural) rather than memorizing and internalizing.

That potential grandparents have—to help growth or hinder it, to head it in the right direction or the wrong one—makes it worth figuring out what “growth” means to each of us, so that as grandparents we can direct our influence (even if small) in the right ways.

What growth matters?

This is not an easy thing to figure out! I called learning to question my teachers “growth.” Others would disagree, thinking that growing in respect for my elders would be preferable (yes, I know—which elder, my grandfather or my teacher?). So what should count as growth? 

Here’s a place to start: The term “growth,” used metaphorically, indicates a change in a positive direction. For example, it seems natural to say a child’s increased skills in reading or math show “growth” in her academic abilities. But it would seem odd to say that a child’s increased lashing out or withdrawal showed “growth” in her psychological maturity.

OK, next question. What counts as a “positive direction”? For common uses of “growth,” social norms play a big role in determining the answer. Reading and math skills are good (eventual high-prestige job). Lashing out and withdrawal are not good (poor ability to fit in socially). 

But it’s unreliable to rely on social norms to understand what should count as “growth.” For example, I just suggested that lashing out is frowned on—and I hope it continues to be!—but recent politics suggest that it’s increasingly admired by a large portion of the US population. Eventually it might make sense to say a child shows growth in her ability to lash out. 

To get beyond shifting social norms, ideas adapted from the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle can help. In Aristotelian thinking, “growth” isn’t about our approving a change. Instead, the term recognizes that something is headed properly towards its “telos,” or goal—that is, toward a condition that is good for that thing. The telos of a rock is to fall back to earth. The telos of an acorn is to become an oak tree. The telos of human beings is eudaimonia—a form of happiness, contentment, or a good life that is rich with the various possibilities open to human beings: acting with virtue and good character, having family and friends, a reasonable income, and exercising one’s ability to reason, etc. In this way of thinking, change that moves a person closer to eudaimonia—true, lasting happiness—is what should count as growth. 

We don’t have to buy the whole Aristotelian package (do rocks and acorns have goals?) to catch a durable message: For the effort to achieve growth to be worthwhile, it should contribute to lasting happiness—a good life, overall. (Or at least improve the odds—there’s luck involved, too.)

And of course, we don’t have to buy Aristotle at all. Many religious leaders also use the “growth” metaphor, as in “spiritual growth.” Religious approaches to growth evade shifting social norms by setting sites on transcendent understandings or ways of being. In some Buddhist traditions, the goal is enlightenment. In some Christian traditions, it is communion with God. In the Buddhist case, earthly goals are put into a perspective that recognizes their transience; the Christian tradition adds that the ultimate stability and hope is with God. In other words, in yet another related metaphor, such traditions see achieving these perspectives as reaching a “higher,” and ultimately more stable, goal.  

When it comes to the metaphorical sense of “growth,” then, it seems that many uses of the term suggest the idea that “growth” indicates progress toward some approved goal. The differences are in what the goal is and in who or what approves it. 

If you’re with me so far, the question for grandparents then becomes, “Toward what goals should I hope my grandchild will grow?” And again, the reason to give this some thought is that it’s possible you will be the one to encourage your grandchild one way or another.

What growth has worked for you?  

One way to begin figuring out what goals are really important is to consider ways your own activities have contributed to your well-being over time. How have work achievements, earning money, friends and family, community engagement, creative activities, education, a spiritual home, spiritual practice, time in nature, etc., fueled your life? Could you have made better choices? (Could you still?) I rank the importance of these aspects of my life differently now than I did as a parent—which gives a clue, I think, to what matters in the long term.

Of course, this line of thinking is only a starting point. What worked for me won’t necessarily work for my grandchild, who is growing up in a different world with different abilities and disabilities. And luck does matter to how we end up doing or feeling overall. 

Yet a bit of thought can prepare me for seizing the moment, like my grandfather did. Then I just do my best. And do the background work to grow a loving relationship that makes any positive influence at all possible.