I found out last week that it would be hard to find a better way to spend three days than with a 2-year-old great-grandson. (It was nice to see his parents and grandparents, too). I had met Colton only once before — when he was a month old — so we had some catching-up to do.

It was a cute little blond-haired toddler holding on to his mommy’s hand and wanting to ride on the “alligator” (I wasn’t sure whether that was the escalator or elevator in Colton-speak) that met us at the Raleigh/Durham Airport in North Carolina.

I don’t know if he had been primed or not, but when he was told by Mama that these strangers were indeed Great Papa and Great Sue, there were smiles and hugs for both of us.

It occurred to me after we went to a nearby amusement park with Colton, rode on a train a couple of times around the park and fed ducks in a pond, that I had observed that same kind of occasion with three generations of small children, starting with my three sons, the oldest of which is Craig, better known to Colton as “Pops,” his grandpa.

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