You do not stop being a parent just because your children become adults.
Sometimes, the role simply changes shape. Sometimes, you become a parental figure for someone else: a grandchild, a niece, a student, a neighbor, or a younger person who happens to be watching you more closely than you realize.
For me, one of those people was my grandfather. Or “opa” in Dutch.
I respected him deeply.
Not because he lectured me. He was not that type of man. He did not sit me down to explain values, character, dignity, or generosity.
He just lived in a way that showed me how to embody certain values.
He helped people. Quietly. Not to be seen doing it, and not to feel impressive afterward. He helped because someone in front of him needed help, and he had decided that this was reason enough to act.
There are many examples I could give, but this one has stayed with me for years. It has spurred me into action many times since.
I remember walking with him down the street when a homeless man suddenly approached us and asked for money.
My grandfather was never someone who did things against his own judgment. He looked at the man calmly and shook his head.
“No, no. I’m not giving you money. You will use it to buy drugs.”
The man looked offended and said he only wanted to buy food.
My grandfather did not argue. He did not moralize. He simply said, “I don’t know what you’ll end up using the money for. But if you really are hungry, come with me. There’s a McDonald’s right over there. I’ll buy you food. I just won’t give you cash.”
To my surprise, the man followed us inside.
My grandfather asked him what he wanted. Then he asked if he wanted anything else. Then he paid.
The homeless man said thank you.
And after that, we all went our separate ways with dignity.
He made one short comment to me afterward, in his unmistakably colorful way, that he felt compassion for that man. He would gladly feed the hungry, but not supply them with narcotics. Then he simply continued our conversation, as if nothing especially remarkable had happened.
But for the man he helped, I imagine it was remarkable.
A warm meal. A moment of honesty, of conversation, of being treated like a person. Rather than A Homeless Man. An act of kindness from a complete stranger, offered with clarity, but without humiliation.
What stayed with me was not only the act itself.
It was the way it was done.
- Dignity on both sides.
- Boundaries without cruelty.
- Help without naivety.
- Compassion without self-congratulation.
That moment became part of my internal compass.
I have followed his example many times since. When someone asks me for money and I am unsure how it will be used, I offer food instead. Sometimes I ask what they want. Sometimes I add basic sanitary items if it seems useful.
Not because I am trying to recreate the scene perfectly, but because I was shown a way to help that made sense to me.
Some people walk away when they realize it will not be cash. And then I feel comfortable with the boundary I set. Other times I returned after 10 minutes with a supermarket bag full of the requested items, and the person in question is nowhere to be found.
Others accept the food with real gratitude. And then I know they were truly hungry.
All of those outcomes are fine.
The lesson my grandfather taught me was simple, but not small:
You can help without abandoning discernment.
You can be generous without stepping outside your values.
That is a lesson children remember by experiencing it, rather than being told so.
And not only children, actually. Grandchildren too. Younger people. Anyone close enough to watch the way you move through the world when you think no one is taking notes. They notice how we treat people who cannot give us anything back. They notice what we do when kindness costs a little time, attention, or inconvenience.
And those lessons do not expire when childhood ends.
They carry forward.
I still think of my grandfather whenever something like this happens. I replay that memory, and somehow the lesson deepens each time.
That, to me, is grand-parenting.
Just an old man walking down the street, choosing to help in a way that was both kind and clear.
It is cheap to talk the talk.
My opa walked the walk.
