"Achieving immortality has nothing to do with your blood flowing through the veins of someone from a younger generation.  Immortality is achieved when your love, ideals and ideas influence a younger person, and he or she then carries those loves, ideas, ideals, and memories of you into the future."

Who said that? Me.

When? Yesterday.

To whom? My Wife.

Why? Read on.

All of my children are adopted.

I have no biological children. (My wife does, but I do not.)

None.

But, boy, do I have kids and grandkids!!!!

There was a time when I would feel sorry for myself because I never had biological children.  I would wallow in self-pity because there was nobody to carry forth the bloodline.

There is nobody from younger generations who resembles me. Nobody has my eyes or my mouth or my nose. (That , however, may be for the better…at least the nose.)

The traditional ideas of fatherhood do not apply to me. I never changed a diaper until I was a grandfather. (My kids were all adopted when they had already passed the diaper stage. The youngest was adopted at age five.) I never looked at an ultra-sound image of a fetus. I never picked out names.

However, despite never having physically sired a child, I am definitely a father and a grandfather, and my sons and daughter will punch you square in the nose if you try to tell them differently.

I have influenced them. I have passed on love and knowledge and tenderness and compassion. (I have also, I’m afraid, passed on anger and insecurities, but the good things outweigh the bad, according to my kids, 1000-fold.)

I take nothing for granted, and I take everything to heart. When somebody calls me “Dad” it always strikes joy deep down inside of me, and I pay attention to those feelings. It makes proud.

None of my children shake my hand when they meet me. They always demand a hug, and my daughter always tops it off with a kiss.

I now have three grandchildren. Mary and I see all of them on the average of once a week, and they all are growing up within a fifteen-mile radius of our home. Our youngest is growing up just a half mile down the road from us.

Little Nova Ann turned one year old this past Sunday, and there was a huge birthday party for her at her home. As I sat there in my son’s living room watching presents being unwrapped and eating cake, my heart filled with all kinds of cottony emotions as I watched Nova interact so lovingly with her Mommy and Daddy, and I saw how happy my son was in roles as father and husband.

It literally brought tears to my eyes.

Last week, my two oldest grandchildren, Alyssa and Lainie, had a week off from school, so Mary took them to Cape Cod for a couple days for a special holiday.  They both slept over our house the night before, and we all played together, fed the horses together, ate dinner, and watched movies together. The next day, grandma took them both to The Cape for a couple of days of fun. I couldn’t go with them because I had work.

Yesterday, I got a post card in the mail from Cape Cod. It was from Alyssa.  Here’s what it said:

“Dear Grandpie,

I lo ve you so much and I miss you. I whish you could come with us. Sorry I diddn’t see you again before we left.

Love,

Alyssa.”

Now, you just try to tell me that she’s not my true granddaughter. Go ahead. I dare you.

Here are some pictures of Alyssa and "Grandpie":

On a train bound for Washington D.C. for Alyssa's 9th birthday this past summer.

Teaching an old man how to use an IPOD.

For the life of me, I can't remember where this picture was taken!

Somebody has a hard time keeping her eyes open when the camera flashes.

Reading a Miley Cyrus bedtime story.