By Vicki Bahr 
We were in the sixth row of the church, all ready for our five-year-old twin grandsons’ preschool Christmas program to begin, when their mom, our daughter Becca, came rushing up with a panicked look on her face.
“Brady says he’s not coming out at all, and Ellis says he’s not going to sing unless Baby Jesus is here, because he wants to sing his songs to the real Baby Jesus.”
I grabbed my purse and started to get up to go backstage with her, but she shook her head and said, “They want to talk to Grandpa.”
John patted my knee as he walked by and said, “I’ll take care of it.”
Of course he would—it was Grandpa to the rescue once again.
Grandpa was the one who decided when I pack the boys’ little bags of snacks they look forward to when we see them and they requested three cookies in the bottom of each bag instead of only one, that maybe, even though their mom and dad said one was just fine, two cookies would be even more perfect.
He was the one who taught their big brother, Adler, to identify and count change by emptying his jeans pockets every time we went to their house. His second-grade teacher said Adler excelled when they studied currency.
And Grandpa’s “rescues” certainly didn’t start with our youngest grandchildren. The six who came before them, courtesy of our other daughter and two sons, have all been in cahoots with him over the past 18 years.
He learned just enough computer savvy to be able to jump on eBay and order Thomas the Tank engines and equipment, assorted wished-for games and clothes that might not have made it on Santa’s sleigh otherwise, and has always had a piece of candy in his pockets at the perfect moment when one of the grandkids was feeling just a little sad.
Donuts magically appeared when the grandkids scored goals. He sings Happy Birthday in Donald Duck’s voice to even the teenagers every time there’s a birthday. He recognizes Taylor Swift songs as well as all of the grandkids’ favorite football and basketball teams. He knows the latest boyfriends’ and girlfriends’ names and is actually pretty good at remembering when it’s best to just keep quiet about a recent misunderstanding.
So, of course, it was Grandpa to the rescue when the twins had their reasons for not being too keen on performing in front of an entire church filled with strangers, and there was no real Baby Jesus in attendance.
Brady and Ellis smiled their biggest smiles and did us proud. Because Grandpa told them it was okay to be shy, and that, of course, we would all make a trip to the ice cream store as soon as the program was over.
And that maybe, just maybe, their mom and dad would find a shiny new quarter in the pockets of their new corduroy pants. Because it’s what grandpas do when they’re involved in a serious rescue.
by Ashli Brehm 
by Sarah Cox 
