“It is the simplest moments in life which give the most pleasure.” Joe Broadmeadow

Life is a series of micro-moments that accumulate into macro experiences. Learning to walk, talk, and read all come in incremental moments of trial and error until they culminate in an accomplishment.

In our own lives, we often cannot see the micro-moments because we focus on the macro ones.

To appreciate these compounding experiences, one must have a child or at least regular contact. But even then—as a parent, uncle, or teacher—your focus is on bigger experiences, and you are burdened by the other responsibilities of jobs, supporting a family, and going about your daily lives.

These responsibilities often cloud the simple moments because there is not enough time. It is easy to miss them, no matter how much we care about them.

In the words of Harry Chapin from Cat’s in the Cradle,

My child arrived just the other day
He came to the world in the usual way
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay
He learned to walk while I was away
And he was talking ‘fore I knew it, and as he grew
He’d say “I’m gonna be like you, dad”
“You know I’m gonna be like you”

But when one is a grandparent and fortunate enough to be involved in their daily lives, one gets to really appreciate those more minor successes and failures along the way.

One grandson, Levi, has accumulated a plethora of micro-moments in his three short years. He’s far beyond the hesitant first steps, the mimicking sounds, the first insistence on independence.

He now tells stories from his wild imagination, weaving complex tales of pirates and buried treasure, haunting ghosts and witches casting spells, and aliens in spaceships landing among us.

He is creating ever-more-complex micro-moments as he builds his macro life, and I’ve had a front-row seat to take it all in.

And now I am in the middle of the sequel with Wyatt. His micro-moment accumulation may be fewer than his older brother’s, but they are amazing to watch.

His ambulatory accomplishments are a combination of walking while balancing with a hand on anything he can grab, dropping to the ground and speed crawling, and climbing upon any obstacle in his way.

Sometimes, these adventures teach a powerful lesson about stability, gravity, and bumps and bruises. Sometimes, particularly when he’s managed to climb on the couch the moment you turn to refill your coffee, he displays this look on his face as he leans over the top—a blend of accomplishment and challenging my control—which says more than any words (which so far elude him) could ever convey.

“Ha, ha, grandfather, look at me. I climbed up here, and you couldn’t stop me.”

Why would I stop him? I want to see this, even if there is the mixed emotion of having to almost drop the coffee cup on the counter as I dash to get near him so he doesn’t decide to jump off or tumble backward.

The one-year-old version of “Hold my beer” stares at me as he learns about his world.

Soon, the words will come. His grunts, smiles, and gestures that have suited him to get his point across will be replaced with, “Grandfather, can we go outside? Grandfather, can we go to the playground? Grandfather, can you read to me?”

Wyatt and Levi will have those micro-moments each day that accumulate into the macro of life. They will get more challenging as time goes on, and, for many of them, even if I wanted to catch them when they fell, I couldn’t.

There are some things one must experience on one’s own.

And there will come a time when I am no longer there to hear about these moments or celebrate these accomplishments. The circle of life is something we all must experience.

But I wouldn’t trade the world for the times I’ve shared with them. Experiencing these moments has been the greatest privilege of my life.