Oh, so long ago, when Camden, my firstborn grandson, was 2 or 3, and his brother, Cooper, was a year younger, they’d often sleep over Saturday nights.

Up early, we’d steal out of the house to let Grandma sleep. Once secure in the two-seat stroller, we’d meander through the neighborhood for an hour or more.

And I’d sing their song to them. It was always “Sweet Baby James” by James Taylor, the folk-rock icon of my own youth. But I’d change the lyrics to “Sweet Camden James” and “Sweet Copper T.”

After a dozen or so repetitions, their energies would fade and they’d nod off. Which didn’t stop me. I’d keep pushing and crooning their song. By the time we got home, they were rested and ready for breakfast.

They’re young men now. Camden soon graduates from high school. Cooper is a high-scoring forward on a traveling hockey team. Even their younger brother, Jaxson, who also was serenaded, is nearly a teen. “Sweet Baby Jax.”

I sing their song even now, remembering my deep contentment from, oh, so long ago.

---

Of Grandparents and Grandchildren

Granny did the shimmy

Shaving the old way

Finding Firth

Nostalgic technology

Pluses and minuses of ‘maturity’

---

Sweet Baby Grandson