Why My Grandkids Beg to Visit Me at “The Park”
By Margaret “Maggie” Thompson, Resident at Harbor View Mobile Home Park | Published February 2026
My name is Maggie. I’m 75 years old, and I’ve lived in Harbor View Mobile Home Park for eight years now.
Before that, I lived in a townhouse. Three floors, a tiny backyard, and stairs – so many stairs. After my husband passed, it felt too big. Too empty. Too quiet.
When my daughter first suggested I move to a mobile home park, I’ll admit: I hesitated. I had the same picture in my head that a lot of people have. But she’d done her research. She found a beautiful remodeled double-wide from Mobile Up in a park near Gig Harbor. She took me to see it, and I fell in love.
But here’s the thing I never expected:
My grandkids now beg to visit me.
Not because they love their grandma so much (though I like to think they do). But because “the park” has become their favorite place on earth.
Let me tell you about it.
The Phone Calls
It started about a year after I moved in.
My daughter would call on weekends, and I could hear my grandson Jack in the background: “Is Grandma calling? Can we go to Grandma’s? Mom, PLEASE can we go to Grandma’s?”
At first, I thought it was just the usual kid enthusiasm. You know how kids get excited about anything new.
But it didn’t stop. It’s been eight years now, and those two kids – Jack is 12 now, and his little sister Emma is 9 – still ask to come see me almost every single weekend.
One day, I finally asked Emma: “Sweetheart, what is it about Grandma’s house that you love so much?”
She looked at me like I was the silliest person in the world.
“Grandma,” she said, “you have a POOL.”
The Pool
Let me explain about our pool.
It’s not fancy. It’s not Olympic-sized or heated or any of that. It’s just a simple community pool at the center of our park, open from Memorial Day to Labor Day.
But to my grandkids, it’s paradise.
Jack learned to swim in that pool. Emma went from clinging to the edge to doing cannonballs off the diving board. They’ve spent countless summer afternoons splashing around with the other park kids, their grandparents sitting on the benches nearby, watching and chatting.
Their house – the townhouse their parents bought three years ago – doesn’t have a pool. None of their friends in the neighborhood have pools. To get to a pool, they’d have to drive to the community center, pay for a guest pass, and share it with strangers.
Here? It’s steps from my front door. Free. And half the kids in the park are their friends.
The Friends
That’s the other thing.
When my grandkids visit, they’re not just visiting me. They’re visiting their whole community.
There’s Tommy, who lives four lots down. He’s 11, and he and Jack are inseparable when they’re both visiting their grandparents. They ride bikes together, trade baseball cards, and have epic Nerf battles in the common area.
There’s Lily, 8, who taught Emma how to do a cartwheel last summer. Now they practice together every time Emma visits, tumbling on the grass while Lily’s grandma and I sit nearby, cheering them on.
There’s Mr. Chen, 82, who lets the kids help him water his vegetable garden and gives them tomatoes to take home. The kids think he’s magic because his tomatoes are “the best in the whole world.”
There’s Mrs. Patterson, who bakes cookies every Tuesday and always saves some for “her kids” – which includes my grandkids whenever they’re visiting.
In their own neighborhood, my grandkids barely know the people next door. People work all day, come home, close their garage doors, and disappear inside.
Here? Everyone knows everyone. And everyone looks out for everyone else’s kids.
The Freedom
I think this might be the biggest thing.
When my grandkids are at their townhouse, they can’t go outside alone. Their parents worry about traffic, about strangers, about all the things parents worry about these days.
When they’re at “the park”? Different story.
Our park is quiet. The roads are slow – everyone drives carefully because everyone knows kids play here. There’s a playground right in the middle, visible from dozens of windows. There are always grandparents outside, watching, gardening, sitting on porches.
So my daughter lets them roam.
They walk to the playground alone. They ride their bikes up and down the lanes. They knock on Tommy’s door to see if he can play. They run to the clubhouse to grab a soda from the vending machine.
For kids raised in a world of constant supervision and scheduled playdates, this freedom is intoxicating.
“Grandma,” Jack told me once, “it’s like you live in a giant playground.”
He wasn’t wrong.
The Space
Their townhouse is nice. It really is. Three bedrooms, two and a half baths, a little fenced yard in back.
But it’s… contained.
My home? It’s not huge – about 1,400 square feet. But outside my door is all the space they could want.
The grassy area behind my lot is perfect for running, for tag, for chasing fireflies at dusk. The picnic tables near the clubhouse become forts and spaceships and secret headquarters. The walking trail around the park’s perimeter is great for bike rides and scooter races.
And my porch? That’s become command central. They sit there with lemonade, watching the world go by, waving at everyone who passes. Sometimes Mr. Chen stops to chat. Sometimes Lily’s grandma brings over cookies. Sometimes it’s just the three of us, rocking in our chairs, talking about nothing and everything.
In their house, “outside time” means the backyard. Fenced, small, separate.
Here, outside time means community.
What My Grandkids Have Taught Me
I started this story thinking I’d share why my grandkids love visiting me.
But writing it, I’ve realized something:
They’ve taught me why I love living here.
Before they started visiting, I took this place for granted. The pool was just there. The neighbors were just friendly people. The freedom was just part of daily life.
Watching through their eyes – seeing the wonder, the joy, the sheer delight they find in this place – reminded me how special it really is.
I’ve lived in regular neighborhoods. I’ve had houses with big yards and fancy amenities.
None of them felt like this.
The Other Grandparents
Here’s something that happened last summer.
I was sitting by the pool, watching the kids swim, when I noticed something. There were at least six grandparents there – some I knew, some I didn’t – all watching kids who weren’t technically theirs.
Tommy’s grandma was helping Emma with her floaties. Lily’s grandma was handing out popsicles to anyone who wanted one. Mr. Chen had brought a watermelon and was slicing it at the picnic table, surrounded by a crowd of sticky-fingered children.
None of us planned this. It just… happened.
Because that’s how it works here.
Your grandkids become everyone’s grandkids. And everyone’s grandkids become yours.
Last Weekend
Just this past weekend, Jack and Emma came to stay with me.
Saturday morning, they were up at dawn, begging to go to the pool. We spent the morning there – me on a lounge chair with my book, them in the water with Tommy and Lily and three other kids I’ve come to know over the years.
Lunch at my place. Sandwiches and lemonade on the porch. Mr. Chen stopped by with a bag of tomatoes.
Afternoon bike rides. A trip to the playground. Homemade cookies from Mrs. Patterson.
Dinner at the picnic tables – a spontaneous potluck with three other families. Someone grilled hot dogs. Someone else brought potato salad. I contributed my famous baked beans.
Evening, more swimming. Then baths, pajamas, and stories on the porch while the sun went down.
As I was tucking Emma into bed, she threw her arms around my neck.
“Grandma,” she whispered, “I wish we could live here forever.”
I hugged her tight and didn’t tell her what I was thinking:
Me too, sweetheart. Me too.
A Message for Parents and Grandparents
If you’re reading this and wondering whether mobile home living might be right for your family – or your aging parents – here’s what I want you to know:
Your grandkids will love it.
Not because the homes are fancy (though remodeled ones from Mobile Up are lovely). Not because of any single amenity.
They’ll love it because of the freedom. The community. The feeling of being part of something bigger than their own little world.
They’ll love it because here, they can be kids. Real kids. Running, playing, making friends, exploring – the way childhood used to be.
And you’ll love watching them.
Come Visit Sometime
My name is Maggie. I live in lot 23, the one with the flower boxes and the purple porch swing. If you’re ever in Harbor View, stop by and say hello.
I might be by the pool. Or on my porch. Or at the picnic tables, sharing a meal with neighbors.
Look for the grandma surrounded by laughing children.
That’ll be me.
And I’ll save you a cookie from Mrs. Patterson.
Margaret Thompson has lived at Harbor View Mobile Home Park for eight years. She welcomes visitors – especially grandkids of all ages.
Do you have a story about your mobile home community? We’d love to hear it.
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