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This summer, while spending time with my grandchildren, one of them asked me a question I hadn’t heard in a very long time.

“Gramps, do you want to play?”

At another point, one of them asked if I wanted to go on a “play date.”

A play date?

Me?

Wow.

When was the last time anyone asked me to go on a play date?

And by “play,” they meant jump in the pool, search the beach for shells, hunt for clams or mussels, stack Jenga blocks, act ridiculous in charades, or take a turn at long-board shuffleboard.

When you are a child, playing is simply part of life.

You don’t need a reason.

You just play.

Somewhere along the way, however, we adults seem to lose that word.

We don’t have play dates. We have lunches. Dinners. Meetings. Appointments. Tee times. Pickleball games. Concerts. Trips. We “get together.” We “catch up.” We “make plans.”

And almost everything we do seems to acquire a purpose.

We swim for exercise.

We walk to get our steps in.

We cycle for cardiovascular health.

We travel to experience another culture.

We read to learn something.

We have lunch to catch up, network, discuss an idea, or solve a problem.

Even leisure gets scheduled.

Children aren’t particularly interested in any of that.

They jump into the swimming pool because the swimming pool is there.

They hunt for shells because finding one is exciting.

They dig for clams because maybe there is a clam down there.

They play Jenga because balancing those little wooden blocks is fun—and watching the whole thing collapse is even more fun.

They play charades because it is hilarious to watch Gramps try to act out something he can’t possibly act out.

There is no deliverable.

No measurable outcome.

No return on investment.

No health objective.

No educational requirement.

No particular reason at all.

They play because playing is fun.

And perhaps that is one of the wonderful things grandchildren can teach grandparents.

Not how to become young again. That would be sentimental, and besides, I am quite happy being a grandfather.

But perhaps they can remind us of something we accidentally left behind.

I actually “play” quite a bit. I play pickleball. I play golf. I ride my bike. I hike. I dance. I swim.

But, interestingly, I rarely think of any of those things simply as playing. I think of them as exercise, recreation, sports, activities—things that are good for me.

My grandchildren don’t make those distinctions.

To them, if you are doing something enjoyable together, you are playing.

And I think they may have it right.

Maybe one of the privileges of being a grandfather is getting invited back onto the playground.

Maybe grandchildren don’t make us young again.

Maybe they simply remind us how to play.

So the next time one of them looks at me and asks,

“Gramps, do you want to play?”

I hope I don’t ask what we’re going to do.

I hope I don’t ask how long it will take.

I hope I don’t check my calendar.

I hope I just say:

“Yes.”