My oldest grandson, Eric Miguel, has begun shaving.
At dinner recently, he was telling me about acing a quiz in his Logics class, explaining the finer points of logistical thinking when the light bulb of understanding went off in his own head. Syllogism was the word of the day, meaning “a logical argument involving three propositions: a formal deductive argument made up of a major premise, a minor premise, and a conclusion.” Truthfully, it was the first time I had ever heard that particular word. Ergo, a vocabulary lesson from my eighth-grader grandson.
He’s only fourteen, but he’s already several inches taller than my daughter, his mom. And there is definitely a little stubble on his upper lip and sideburn area - as I personally inspected. After enduring his grandmother’s scrutiny of his new facial hair, he proudly pointed to his muscular chest which also sports a few nubile hairs and then to his matching tummy fuzz. His voice began changing last year and has finally evened out to a nice baritone. He barely squeaks anymore.
This fall, because of her busy schedule, a couple of times, my daughter asked me to pick Eric up from football practice, which I did gladly to have some alone time with him. Knowing he’d come off the practice field all sweaty and dirty, I was armed with a protective covering for my front passenger seat. As I waited in the parking lot, hoping not to embarrass him in any way with his friends, I witnessed a phenomenon. As he and his buddies click-clacked past me with their football-player cleated feet, there was an ephemeral haze or halo surrounding the boy cluster. I recognized it as a fog of testosterone.
When Eric was born, I was right there in the room, watching the whole wondrous event as he slipped out into the world. Of course it was love at first sight, and I’ve always felt a special bond with him because he was the first grandchild. I have relished watching him grow from a curious, tow-headed toddler busily inspecting the contents of my suitcase, to this budding young man whose vocabulary now includes words I’ve never heard.
At dinner recently, he was telling me about acing a quiz in his Logics class, explaining the finer points of logistical thinking when the light bulb of understanding went off in his own head. Syllogism was the word of the day, meaning “a logical argument involving three propositions: a formal deductive argument made up of a major premise, a minor premise, and a conclusion.” Truthfully, it was the first time I had ever heard that particular word. Ergo, a vocabulary lesson from my eighth-grader grandson.
Logics is one of the mandatory classes at his Ivy League private, preparatory school. Every high school graduate is required to give a senior thesis, subject yet-to-be-determined, which they will have to present verbally in front of a large audience of teachers, parents and the general public. They are then expected to answer questions in support of their own theses. Quite a lofty undertaking. A lot of people expect great things from these kids. No doubt his class will produce some doctors, lawyers, professors and maybe a senator or two. So what does it matter if a few words are foreign to his ol’ Nana?
Eric’s younger brothers, whom I love equally, both came by their affectionate “Nana Nicknames” easily. For some reason they just rolled out of my head in the process of being around them. Ethan Ricardo, my middle grandson, became “Ethan Ricardo Montalban,” much to everyone’s amusement. Baby Eli became “Elias Augustus” and holds court at every opportunity, living up to Caesar’s standards. But for some reason, I just could never hit on a catchey nickname for Eric - until now.
There is no disputing that Eric is no longer a baby. He’s much closer to a man now than a baby. Witnessing his maturation has finally unveiled an appropriate nickname for him in my mind. He will be “Eric the Great” for the rest of his life - whether he likes it or not.
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