Let’s be honest: kids don’t fall in love with grandparent titles.
They fall in love with how you make them feel—seen, safe, and a little bit delighted.
I’m a grandfather who spends a lot of time circling the park with a scooter brigade, pockets full of clementines. What I’ve learned is simple: you don’t need big budgets or big speeches. You need small, repeatable behaviors that quietly say, “You matter to me.”
Here are seven that work every time.
1) Learn their world
When my oldest granddaughter was five, she corrected me mid-sentence: “Granddad, that’s not a unicorn, it’s an alicorn.” Wings plus horn—apparently a crucial distinction. I could have waved it off. Instead, I asked, “What else should I know?” Twenty minutes later I had a crash course in magical taxonomy and a kid who couldn’t stop smiling.
Kids open up when you care about what they care about. That means getting specific. Know the names of their teachers, teammates, and stuffed animals. Learn the titles of their favorite books and the characters that scare them just a bit. If they play a video game, ask them to teach you the first level. Be bad at it on purpose; let them be the expert.
Same goes for teens. Step into their playlists. “Give me three songs that explain your week” is a better bridge than “What is this noise?” I keep a little notes app labeled “Grandkid Intel.” It’s not espionage; it’s love on purpose. When you remember that the blue water bottle is the “lucky” one, you become the adult who sees them.
2) Make tiny rituals, then protect them
Big trips are wonderful. But closeness is built on the micro—rituals so small you could miss them if you blinked.
We have “Two-Block Adventures.” Every Saturday, we pick a direction and walk two city blocks. We look for one heart-shaped rock, one “strange sound,” and one thing we can fix (usually a tipped-over scooter at the park rack). Ten minutes, tops. But it’s ours.
Rituals create belonging without effort. They also travel. If you live far away, create a video call ritual: “Sourdough Sunday” where you each show a snack, “Three-Thing Thursday” where you share a laugh, a learn, and a ‘little oops,’ or “Sketch-and-Share” where you both draw a 60-second picture and hold it to the camera. Keep it short, keep it consistent, keep it fun.
Here’s the key: protect the ritual. Show up on time. End on time. If you need to miss, reschedule, don’t vanish. Reliability is the quietest love language.
3) Ask before you ‘do’
This one’s big. Ask before you hug. Ask before you post. Ask before you feed. Ask before you “fix.”
“Can I give you a squeeze or a high-five?”
“Okay if I take a photo? Want me to keep it just for us?”
“Your mom and dad said no sweets before dinner—shall we cut apples and cinnamon instead?”
Consent builds trust at any age. It also shows your adult children that you’re an ally, not a loophole. If you’ve ever been stuck between a pleading grandkid and a weary parent, you know the tension. A simple line saves the day: “Your parents are the boss of safety. I’m the boss of fun within the rules.” Kids breathe easier when the adults match.
I’ve mentioned this before, but when you respect the parents, you become the safe place for everyone. The fastest way to lose ground is to undermine rules, even “just this once.” The fastest way to gain it back? Be the grandparent who asks.
4) Tell stories, don’t give lectures
Kids don’t need another coach. They need a compass they’ll actually carry.
I used to jump straight to “lessons.” Then I noticed their eyes drifting to the nearest ant. Now I swap lectures for micro-stories with a single beat of meaning.
“First time I tried to ride a bike, I kept staring at the mailbox I didn’t want to hit, and—bam—I hit it. I learned to look where I want to go, not where I don’t.”
Short. True. Visual. You can even end with, “What would you have done?” They’ll tell you, and sometimes they’ll be right—and you can say so. That humility (letting them be wiser or braver than you at times) earns you more minutes in their world than any sermon.
Family stories work especially well: the recipe that failed spectacularly, the time you were scared and did it anyway, the neighbor who taught you to whistle. Archive them. Kids build identity from the narratives we hand them—make those narratives sticky and human.
5) Be the calmest person in the room
If you want kids to love being around you, become a thermostat, not a thermometer. Set a steady temperature.
I don’t raise my voice. I don’t catastrophize a spill. I don’t sigh when shoes go on the wrong feet. (They’ll switch them when it matters.) When something goes sideways, I narrate the next tiny step. “No big deal. Let’s grab a towel. You hold; I’ll pour. Teamwork.”
Calm is contagious. It makes you the person they bring their messes to—because you don’t make the mess bigger. You’ll notice their shoulders drop the second they see you. That’s not because you buy the fun snacks; it’s because you regulate the atmosphere.
Two tactical tricks that help: First, anchor phrases. I use “We’re okay,” and “One thing at a time.” Second, transitions. Give warnings before you shift activities: “Two more slides, then shoes.” Kids trust adults who move through the day predictably. Teens too—they just won’t admit it.
6) Give them jobs that matter
Nothing glues a relationship like shared work that counts. Not pretend jobs—real ones.
At our house, little hands wash strawberries, carry the mail, and pick herbs for soup. Bigger hands check bike tires, set timers for bread, and read the recipe out loud while I chop. On park days, someone is the “crossing captain.” On rainy days, someone runs “sound effects” for story time. Titles are silly; responsibility isn’t.
Jobs say, “You belong here. We need you.” They also build competence and pride. Kids glow when they see adults rely on them with a straight face. And when they do the job, you thank the effort, not the outcome. “That took focus” sticks longer than “You’re so smart.”
If you’re long-distance, send a “mission” before a call. “Agent 7, locate two things in your kitchen that start with ‘S’ and report back.” It’s ridiculous. It’s also connection.
7) Keep showing up between visits
Love grows in the in-between. Five-minute touches beat five-hour extravaganzas.
I mail ridiculous postcards. (“URGENT: A duck stole my hat. Advise.”) I send voice notes that start with the sound of the wind and end with a question they can answer in eight words. I text photos of the sky and caption them “Same moon.” For teens, I’ll drop a no-reply-needed message: “Saw a jacket in your favorite color. Thought of you. Proud of how you handled [specific thing].”
On birthdays, I send a story instead of a paragraph of adjectives. “When you were three you insisted purple was a flavor. I still smile whenever I see grape popsicles. Thanks for that.” It travels further.
And I show up for the not-flashy stuff. Recitals are nice. Tuesday spelling tests matter more. If I can’t be in the seat, I ask for the debrief. “What felt easy? What felt spicy?” Then I listen, which—as you know—is a verb.
Final thoughts
A few practical notes that help everything above stick:
- Mind your energy. Kids can smell burnout. Take your walk, drink your water, say a gentle “not today” when you’re running on fumes. A rested grandparent is a kinder grandparent.
- Be quick to repair. We all snap. We all miss the mark. A simple, “I didn’t like how I spoke earlier. You deserved better. Want to try again?” turns a misstep into a model.
- Let their parents be the experts. When in doubt, text: “Anything you want me to reinforce this week?” You’ll get gold: bedtimes, screen limits, new fears, new joys. Then you become a multiplier, not a detour.
- Stay curious about who they’re becoming. Kids shift fast. The dinosaur expert might wake up a guitarist. Follow the thread. Ask for a demo, not a definition. You’ll get both.
If you’re rebuilding after distance—physical or emotional—start tiny. One honest note. One predictable ritual. One story told without a moral. Let time do the heavy lifting. It usually does.
Grandchildren don’t need a new you. They need a truer you—steadier, sillier, and more curious.
Pick one habit from this list and start today.
Which one will you try first?
