When Granddad Treats One Grandkid Differently – How to Handle It
The last time we visited my parents, my six-year-old daughter Maya came running to me with tears in her eyes. She’d been playing with her granddad’s old train set in the corner of the living room, and her eight-year-old cousin Leo had wandered over. Granddad patted Leo on the head, pulled out a chocolate bar from his pocket, and said, “Here’s my favorite boy. Don’t tell your sister.”
Maya heard it. She sat back on her heels and watched Leo unwrap the chocolate. Then she looked at me with that expression that says, I understand exactly what just happened, and I don’t like it.
This wasn’t the first time. Granddad isn’t malicious. He loves both kids, I’m sure of it. But he’s old-school. He grew up in a house where the oldest grandson got special treatment, where boys got more freedom, and where “favorite” was just a word you said without thinking. He doesn’t notice the way he changes when Leo is around. But Maya notices. And now she’s asking questions.
If you’ve ever stood in that kind of moment, you know the sinking feeling. You want to protect your child’s sense of fairness, but you also don’t want to start a family drama over something that might seem small to everyone else. It’s tempting to let it slide, to say, “Oh, Granddad didn’t mean it,” or to avoid visits for a while. But that doesn’t fix anything.
What I’ve learned, mostly by fumbling through it, is that the first step is not to fix your father-in-law. It’s to help your child make sense of what they’re seeing.
The afternoon Maya cried, I didn’t say anything to my dad. I just pulled her onto my lap and told her, “That must have felt pretty unfair.” She nodded, sniffled, and asked, “Does Granddad love Leo more?”
That question stops you cold. I could feel the urge to reassure her, to say “Of course not, he loves you both the same.” But that would have been a lie in that moment. Because his actions did show more love to Leo, at least right then. Instead, I said, “I think Granddad has a habit of doing things that make him feel good. Sometimes he doesn’t think about how it looks to other people.”
That’s the honest version. Granddad isn’t systematically favoring Leo to hurt Maya. He’s acting on autopilot, following patterns from his own childhood. And children are incredibly perceptive. They don’t need us to pretend everything is equal. They need us to acknowledge what they observed and help them interpret it.
So we had a talk about “some grown-ups have favorites, even if they don’t mean to.” Maya asked, “Is that okay?” I said, “It’s not really okay, but it’s also not something you can control. What you can control is what you think about yourself. You don’t need to be someone’s favorite to be wonderful.”
That’s not a one-time speech. I’ve repeated parts of it over the last few months. And I’ve learned that the practical side matters just as much as the words.
First, we stopped putting Maya in situations where she’d be the obvious outsider. For example, my dad always brought two little gifts when he visited—one for Maya and one for Leo. But he’d give Leo his first, and sometimes he’d give Leo the bigger one. That might sound minor, but for a six-year-old, it’s a gut punch. So now, when my dad calls to say he’s stopping by, I say, “Great. Let’s do a craft together. I’ll set up two stations.” Or I’ll ask him to bring one shared thing, like a puzzle or a box of markers, so there’s no comparison.
It’s not about micromanaging him. It’s about creating a container where his favoritism has less room to show up.
Second, we started giving Maya a little script. She used to freeze when Granddad offered Leo something she didn’t get. Now I’ve taught her to say, “Granddad, I’d like one too, please.” That sounds simple, but it’s hard for a kid to speak up when they feel hurt. We practiced it at home. She can say it in a calm voice, and my dad always hands something over. He’s not trying to be mean; he’s just oblivious. When she asks, he responds. It turns her passive hurt into a small, active request.
The bigger piece, though, is helping my dad change his behavior without making him defensive. I’ve said things like, “Dad, Maya notices when you pay more attention to Leo. I know you don’t mean it, but she’s sensitive right now.” That wording works better than “You’re being unfair.” He’s not a bad guy. He just needs the pattern pointed out.
We also made a point of creating one-on-one time. My dad doesn’t know what to do with two kids at once, especially when one is a girl and one is a boy. He’s comfortable with Leo because they can play rough and talk about football. With Maya, he’s less sure. So I suggested, “Hey, Dad, why don’t you take Maya to the bakery next Saturday, just the two of you? She loves picking out a pastry.” He agreed, and it went okay. They didn’t have a magical bonding moment, but they sat at a table, he asked her about school, and she felt special for an hour.
That’s a useful trick, actually. When favoritism comes from familiarity, widening the shared experience helps. It doesn’t change the instinct, but it gives the less-favored grandchild a memory to hold onto.
Now, I’m not going to pretend that everything is smooth. Last month, my dad told Leo, “You’re the man of the family now” while Maya was standing right there. She rolled her eyes at me, and I had to stifle a laugh. She’s learning to see his comments as relics of an older world, not as truths about her own value. That’s a resilience skill. It might be a better lesson than I could have taught her on my own.
If you’re in this situation, I’d say the worst thing you can do is stay silent in the moment and then vent about it later. Kids pick up on your anger, but they don’t understand it. They just feel confused and unsafe.
What works better is a three-step approach. First, name what happened in neutral language: “Granddad gave Leo a treat and didn’t offer you one. That must have felt bad.” Second, separate your love from his behavior: “I always have room for you. No one can take that away.” Third, decide what you’ll do next time, together. Do you ask for what you want? Do you walk away and find your mom? Do you tell Granddad “I don’t like that”? Those are real choices. Let your child weigh in.
We ended up making a little plan. Maya decided that if Granddad does something unfair, she’ll first take a deep breath, and then she’ll either ask for the thing directly or come find me and we’ll step outside briefly. She doesn’t always do it. Sometimes she just looks hurt. But the plan gives her a sense that she has agency, even in a situation she didn’t create.
As for me, I still have moments where I want to shake my dad and say, “She’s your grandkid too, not some extra.” But I’ve also realized he’s not going to change at seventy-two just because I make a good argument. What I can change is how we prepare before visits, how I help Maya process afterward, and how I model honesty about unfairness without turning it into a family war.
Last weekend, we were leaving a barbecue at my parents’ house. Maya hugged her granddad goodbye. He patted her shoulder and said, “You’re a good girl, you know that?” It wasn’t much, but it was something. Maya didn’t mention Leo. She just took my hand and said, “Granddad said I’m good.”
I’ll take that. It’s not a fairy tale ending. There will be more moments when she feels second-best. But I’m starting to think that’s okay—not okay as in fine, but okay as in survivable. She’s learning that people are complicated. That you can be loved imperfectly. And that her worth doesn’t depend on a granddad who sometimes forgets to notice her.
That’s a lesson that will serve her well beyond the living room floor, long after the train set is packed away. I just wish it didn’t have to be learned so early. But then again, Maya’s always been a quick study.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » When Granddad Treats One Grandkid Differently – How to Handle It