The long-awaited, much-anticipated update on the grandkids

Since you asked, here’s an update of all the grandchildren.
Wyatt is 13. He’s still into sports in a big way and still makes really good grades.
He made all As on several of his report cards last year. After he got one of them, his daddy said, “Just think what he could do if he studied.”
“He’d get all As,” I said.
Sometimes it’s hard to remember he’s a teenager because his favorite thing in life is to sneak up on somebody and scare them. Sometimes his mother gets him back and he squeals like a girl.
Better stop before I embarrass him or get into trouble. Or both.
Second oldest Brock is 9. He’s in the third grade at one of those Laurens Montezuma schools. He’s had the same teacher all three years. I never had a teacher I wanted for more than one year, but he seems to like it. He’s doing outstanding grade-wise.
Considering who his two grandmothers are, Brock is pretty well adjusted. He enjoys aggravating his sister. More about her in a minute.
His mother is pretty strict. His paternal grandmother is pretty not strict. He really likes coming to our house. I told Nana once that if he said he was going to jump off the house, she’d let him.
“I think I could catch him or at least break his fall,” she said. She was not joking.
Like Wyatt, Brock loves hunting, fishing and sports. When I was a kid, I didn’t hunt at all, I rarely fished and I was barely average at sports. They may not be related to me.
Wilkes is 6 and in the first grade. We’re sure he’s smart like his brother and his cousin, but we’re equally as sure, he could care less. He’s pretty relaxed except when he’s not.
He was at our house a week or two ago. Had just gotten out of the bath and Nana (the OCD Queen) was trying to comb his hair. He took the comb away from her and ran it lengthwise down his scalp, essentially doing nothing.
After a couple swipes, he put down the comb and pronounced, “I got the wrinkles out.”
Wilkes appears to have some athletic skill, but he lacks the competitive desire that drives his brother (and for whom hair combing can be a competition, wrinkles or no).
In YMCA football, Wilkes may decide to just run alongside the runner whose flag he’s supposed to grab. My screaming at him to “grab that darn flag” doesn’t seem to do any good.
Marett is five and in kindergarten at the Motezuma school. Not sure how many years she’ll keep this teacher.
Being the only girl, Marett is pretty spoiled (unlike the other three). She rules the roost. She loves to get Brock into trouble. Sometimes – rarely -- he’s totally innocent.
There’s something else about sweet little Marett, she of the deep voice. How can I say this…she’s a hardcore liar. That sounds harsh. How about, she has trouble telling the truth. Or, Marett and the truth are strangers.
She fibs when she doesn’t have to. She knows her Nana is going to let her do what she wants. There’s no need to stomp on the truth. And yet she does.
There are two ways you can usually tell Marett is not telling the truth. One way is her cute little mouth will scrunch up when she not being truthful. The second way you can tell Marett is fibbing is because she just said something.
Now tell me about your grandkids. (Just kidding. Don’t care.)

(Larry Franklin is publisher of The Chronicle. His email address is His blog can be read at

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