Dear Granddaughter:

I can’t tell you how much Nana and I enjoyed having you as our guest last week.

Nana’s sorry that she had to work the one full day you were here. If you promise not to tell her, I will share a secret with you: Opa likes having you all to himself, even though there are some things he approaches with trepidation, like wardrobe selection and the hair thing.

Picking out your clothes for the day isn’t as intimidating as it used to be. You pretty much call the shots these days. I’m happy to say that you seem to have inherited Nana’s and your mother’s fashion genes. I can’t remember the last time you assembled an outfit that made them cringe.

Also, we didn’t have disagreements about your insistence on wearing shorts in near-freezing temperatures. Of course, that may simply have been a reflection of the fact that your mother didn’t pack any this trip.

As for the coiffure, thanks for letting Opa off the hook by saying you didn’t want braids or a French twist. Like most men, Opa has never figured out why women fuss so much with their hair.

One nice thing about having a grandchild is that it gets Opa in places he otherwise might never go – the Main Street Children’s Museum, for example.

According to Wikipedia, a museum is an “institution that cares for a collection of artifacts and other objects of scientific, artistic, cultural or historical importance and makes them available through exhibits that may be permanent or temporary.”

This was Opa’s third visit to the Children’s Museum, but he has yet to see any important artifacts there, although it would make a great lab for social scientists or perhaps a writer’s workshop for a theater of the absurd.

Take the little boy I nicknamed “Broomy.” The entire time we were there, he clutched two toy brooms to his chest and marched up and down the stairs to the tree house. Along the way he managed to poke half a dozen children in the eye or whack them on the side of the head.

Since he couldn’t have been any older than three, he was oblivious to the consequences of his broom fixation. What was notable was that none of Broomy’s victims sought to exact revenge. Some cried, but there was a consensus among the pre-school set that these violations of their personal space were unintentional.

In a few years, after society has had more time to acculturate these innocents, I’m sure their tolerance quotient will be severely diminished. That’s why there’s so much road rage in the world today.

Opa noted that you still are not keen on group participation. Rather than push your way to the front of gaggle of kids wanting to weigh bean bags on a scale or push a tiny train along a wooden track, you would rather find an activity you could do by yourself.

Garrison Keillor, host of “A Prairie Home Companion,” one of your favorite programs, would classify you as a “shy person.”

Imagine Opa’s surprise at your reaction when a girl about your size plopped down on a cylindrical cushion you had been playing on. You explained to her in certain terms that you had the cushion first and that she wasn’t welcome. She was bigger than you, and so you were unable to dislodge her from your cushion, but you showed both spunk and justified indignation – qualities that both Mr. Keillor and Opa appreciate.

Mostly, Opa enjoyed our chats and the games we made up. My favorite was the one in which you wanted the Freddie the Chef puppet to give the Fisher Price people a demonstration on making dog food.

A lot of the games you make up are similar in that they involve a teacher and students.

Knowing that you are modeling teachers at your pre-school gives Nana and Opa both joy and sadness.

Joy because we know you will become a sensitive, caring and responsible adult one day.

Sadness because we also know that day will come before we are ready for it.

Love, Opa

Email former Herald editor Terry Plumb at terry.plumb@gmail.com.