I have never been a popular person. I can count all my friends without using all my toes.

But in my dotage, there’s a war going on for who gets to sit with “nonno” — a nod to my wife’s Italian cousins for “grandpa”.

When the Boy or his fucking-pickleball wife drop the grand baby off, she likes to sit with me for the first five or ten minutes to discuss what we are going to do that day.

She’s 18 months old, the agenda is light but long — play duh, blocks, make big bubbles in the backyard, take a walk, eat a popsicle, watch YouTube, read books, make coffee (yes she loves to make coffee) do some dishes/laundry, bake muffins…

Blossom with a popsicle — and yes retirement means I don’t have to bother combing my hair for days at a time. And yes, I have a “happy face” only a grandchild could love.

When she gets down from my lap, the war starts.

Like toddlers or puppies fighting over their favorite toy, the milli-second the grandchild gets down, the dog sprints across the room and jumps as high as she can to get up.

Carol Baskin, the tiger-striped chiweenie, is not about to let a child steal her spot permanently.

The grand baby turns, looks — and something happens that never happens at our house — the tears start.

“Nonno,” and she walks to my feet with her arms up in that wordless demand to be lifted back into her rightful throne. She’s a girl of few words — mostly because she is just learning how to speak.

“No, Blossom. It’s the dog’s turn.”

The tears turn to mini-screams. That baby doesn’t talk much, but she understands EVERYTHING. I believe it is the first time in her young life I have ever told her “no.”

“You can sit in nonna’s lap,” I say, in an effort to divert the child to another adult and assuage the jealousy and anger of my neglected spouse. For years, the wife has hated how much attention the dog pays to me. The “love” from the grand child is almost too much.

Here I am Mr. Magnanimous willing to throw the wife a crumb of my personal popularity and prestige. I have never been in this role before. It’s good to be the King.

Surprisingly, she accepted.

“Come sit with nonna,” the wife says, with her arms out ready to lift the baby to the lap of a loving adult.

The baby looks at nonna, looks at the dog, looks at me and instantly comes up with her own idea.

“Dog,” she said. And then points her index finger at nonna.

Her meaning is crystal clear. Nonna and the dog are the JV team. They can sit together while the grand baby reoccupies the Varsity spot on grandpa’s lap.

In case you can’t read it, the shirt says: “I get my ATTITUDE from… Well pretty much all of the women I’m related to.” Nonna bought that shirt a few minutes after the baby was born. She fit into it on the day she decided to set the seating chart with one word: “Dog.”

We can’t help but laugh. In the confusion of baby tears and adult laughter, the dog flees her high ground and hops on the couch and leans into nonna.

That baby pulled herself up and took her spot on my lap. No more tears. Just smiles and cuddles.

We flip through YouTube. Now we could “discuss” our preferences. I want Italian nursery rhymes on “El Treno Bob” to work on my language skills. She wants yet another Blippi episode of a grown man in goofy suspenders and glasses crawling around plastic slides and ball pits meant for preschoolers.

So, we are watching Blippi and 3 minutes later, the grand baby gets down to play with her blocks, and the dog sprints into my lap.

“Nonno” she calls.

The wife comes up with the best distraction. 40 years of teaching gives you some skills in manipulating others.

“Go give your dog a hug.”

This time there are no tears. There’s no demand for up. She has already won this fight and she is being “little Miss Magnanimous” and letting the dog have a short turn. She carefully puts her head and covers the entire dog’s chest and shoulders and wraps her fingers around the dog’s legs.

Carol Baskin has that nervous chihuahua lean as she stares in my eyes and seeks safety from this little drooling monster. But for the first time in this young child’s life, she doesn’t run. She tolerates.

Magnanimity wins the day.

Everybody gets what they want.

  • I get to be popular for the first time in 62 years.
  • The grand baby gets to be the boss.
  • The chihuahua gets to be “top dog” in the lap contest.

Well, everybody except nonna. Nonna has given up on the dog. She just has to roll her eyes and hope that sometime in the next 20 years, the grand baby will put her on the varsity team for a even just a little while.

I gotta say — it’s good to be popular.