Carnett: ‘Grandpa duty’ plays out well at the mall

My name is Jim. I’m a mall grandparent.

You can find us (grandparents) — by the hundreds — daily at a mall near you.

You’ll see us pushing our progeny in strollers, accompanying them on carousel horsey rides and stuffing them with gluten and sugar as we loll, completely bushed, next to mall planters while quaffing double-shot macchiatos.

This is called retirement.

Where are our grandchildren’s parents, you ask? They have careers.

Occasionally, we PapPaps and Gammys stop to chew the fat with one another. Do we know each other in advance? Not usually. Not necessary. Like two mountaineers who encounter one another at the same precipice on the north face of the Eiger, we pretty much figure out what it is we have in common.

We, the slightly disheveled products of the 1960s counterculture, are now giving to our grandkids what we denied our own children: our time and ourselves. With this second-shot opportunity, we occupy a meaningful niche in the raising of our grandchildren — whether that was our original intent or not.

“I see you’re on grandpa duty,” one gentleman my age called out recently as I pushed a stroller in his direction at the mall. What tipped him to the fact that I’m a grandfather and not a father? Probably my ancient gray mane and crusty exoskeleton.

“Yep, I’m standing in the breach holding civilization together,” I quipped, red-faced and seriously gassed.

“I’ll be on duty this afternoon, saving the world,” was his harried reply.

We’ve gone from being hippies, attorneys, landscapers, doctors, truck drivers, executives, teachers, directors, computer gurus, musicians, scientists, engineers and architects — to being babysitters.

We take our grandchildren to malls so we can defer for a brief period having them underfoot at home. Why the mall? Easy access, air conditioning, lotsa distractions.

My wife, Hedy, and I watch our 18-month-old grandson, Judah, several days a week. I’ll not try to dazzle you with bravado. It’s pure joy, but not always easy. Our go-to place is South Coast Plaza.

We go mornings before his mid-morning nap, as the shops are beginning to open. We’re in the mall with fellow grandparents, the morning mall walkers and the mall security staff. Oh, and that balloon lady untangling her wares next to the carousel.

Upon entering the mall, we release Judah from the shackles of his stroller and allow him the freedom to roam on his own — with Hedy and me in hot pursuit. He loves watching store employees make last-minute window adjustments and alterations. In fact, some have become his closest friends. He waves to them, and they respond in kind.

After about 15 minutes, we load him back into the stroller and take the mall elevator to the second level. That’s when we make our indispensable Starbucks run.

Hedy gets into the (long!) Starbucks line, and I walk Judah in a holding pattern in front of Victoria’s Secret. I try to shield his eyes from the huge window blowups of scantily clad females. Sadly, he’ll be the target demo for such images soon enough.

After securing coffee, we head for the western end of the mall and a French-themed bakery. We purchase a croissant, cinnamon bun and a small carton of chocolate milk for consumption on a comfy nearby bench. We people-watch as we eat.

Judah chirps “moy” (more) or “meoh” (milk) every time he wants another bite or swig.

After finishing our treats, we head back to the other side of the mall –- pausing to toss three pennies into the fountain –- to ride the carousel. We also occasionally stop at the Disney Store to view its latest displays. Sometimes, we’re there early enough to participate in the store’s official opening ceremony, at 10 a.m.

Then it’s time to head home for Judah’s nap.

All together, we spend 90 minutes at the mall, from the moment we pull the stroller from the trunk in the parking lot until it’s loaded back up again.

All things considered, it’s time well spent.

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.