It was supposed to be a family vacation. Patrick, 7, and Christian, 10, qualified to compete in the Tae Kwon Do Junior Olympics in Minneapolis. The grand plan was to drive out there, stay for several days of competition and then meander back, sightseeing along the way. I’ve learned not to make grand plans.

Two weeks before the competition, Christian developed an illness that resulted in easy bruising. Kicking and punching in competition were quickly eliminated from his summer plans. That left us to go to Plan B where Patrick was concerned. My father had already planned to fly out to join us in Minnesota and my husband’s father was eager to go as well. Quickly, the family vacation became a "guy’s trip" that spanned generations. Mike, his father, my father, and the Virginia Tae Kwon Do Champion headed north.

My father, Grandpa, is a busy executive who is known to frequently work seven-day weeks. This four-day "vacation" was rare indeed. Mike’s dad is a generation older than mine. A trip across the country in hundred degree heat wouldn’t be a walk in the park for him. That said, neither man looked on the trip as a sacrifice. They wanted to be there. They relished the opportunity to be a part of Paddy’s life and they found joy in his very being.

Since Mike would be away from them for part of the time, I spent several days bothering my father with phone calls to remind him of everything from Patrick’s lack of swimming ability to the Power Bars I’d packed in the sparring bag. Patrick relished the idea, reminding us frequently that he was sure to be spoiled rotten. All in all, I was fairly calm. I fought tears successfully when Paddy left and resigned myself to my passive role as prayer warrior for the trip. Until competition day.

Patrick, who has never lost anything in his life, was eliminated in the quarterfinals. The thought of my seven-year-old down on the big mat in the middle of the Metrodome, without me, was unbearable. He had to go all the way to Minnesota to lose and now he was learning a huge life lesson alone.

Only he wasn’t alone. He had his grandfathers. I could almost hear the "It’s okay to cry. We’re gonna get ‘em next time" talk my dad was giving him. It’s personally familiar to me. And I saw quite clearly the little bag of gumballs Mike’s dad brought along to sweeten the sadness.

Mike re-joined them and my dad flew home. Patrick, Grandad and Mike went on to South Dakota. They saw the house where Grandad was born, the town where he grew up, and an old family cemetery. They visited with a distant cousin and heard tales of long ago. They spent some time at a county fair and enjoyed a great day on a lake with my publisher and her family. Patrick returned home happy, despite his disappointing loss.

In the week since he has returned, I’ve slowly heard more details about the trip. He makes observations about the personalities of each of his grandfathers. He tells me jokes I heard 30 years ago. And he tells me new ones that bear the unmistakable mark of my father-in-law. His granddad is 71 years older than he is but now Paddy knows Foss family history through Grandad’s eyes. He learned about the other side of his family, too. Patrick is so much like my father it startles me sometimes. They are both brilliant, intense overachievers. And they both know each other and themselves a little better for having shared the time together.

The trip worked because both grandfathers have made an effort to know Patrick before this time. They have put in time at hot, boring soccer games and long, boring Tae Kwon Do belt ceremonies. They’ve talked to him and listened to him. They know who he is and have endeavored to understand what makes him tick. They appreciate him and they love him.

I’ve heard so many times that part of the reason parents today are overburdened is that they are missing the wisdom and practical support of the generation before them. A trip that could have been a disaster was not because my husband and I had that support. We were blessed by our fathers. And our fathers were blessed by our son. Patrick may have benefited most of all. He struck out on his own, with years of wisdom waiting in the wings when things got rough. He learned how to lose and he learned about the hearty stock from which he comes.

In so many ways, active grandparenting can benefit every generation of our culture. Our children can learn so much from the elders in their families. Perhaps most important of all lessons they learn is the one of unconditional love. Grandparents can shower affection unabashedly. They don’t have to concern themselves with daily details nearly the way a parent does. Instead, their sole mission can be to get to know the child and to affirm his worth. That role is not limited to local grandparents. Even far-flung grandparents can really touch a child via e-mail, postal mail, frequent phone calls and well-timed visits.

Parents benefit from active grand-parenting in both emotional and practical ways. My friend Barbara relies on both her mother and her mother-in-law. Her mother lives out of town, but always appears with perfect timing when there is a need to fill. Her mother-in-law lives locally. Despite caring for an invalid husband and mother-in-law of her own, she can be counted on to ensure that Barbara and her husband have helping hand when they need one. And they can be counted on to celebrate the announcement of every new grandchild with a tea party downtown. It’s a celebration that continues with every step of the child’s life.

So what’s in it for the grandparents? When you take the time to get to know a child, to meet him where he is, the rewards are boundless. Nothing is so dear as a child’s affection. Nothing gives meaning to life like being important to a child. Nothing matters so much as leaving a loving legacy to the next generation.

When my father’s pictures arrived in the mail, Patrick stared long and hard at one of him with both grandfathers.