grandparents
Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
Remembering Again
It has taken ten years for Poppop to remember my name again. We are sitting at a table outside under string lights and stars. He is wearing a blue sweater vest and his head is still bald. I cry as he marvels at my tattoos. He tells me he would like to get some. How outlandish! How hip! He doesn't ask me why I’m crying, and I don’t register the tears until I wake up.
Sone KramerPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesYou've got the wrong kid!
My Grandpa and I had a very effective system for after school pickup. Pampa would arrive a little earlier than most parents and other pickup personnel in order to secure a prime parking location near the entrance of the gate that I would exit the school premises from. In order to pass the time, Pampa would shut off the car, read the newspaper and daily specials at the markets, or he would get out of the car to socialize with the crossing duty. My role in our system was to pack up as quickly and efficiently as possible so that I could be one of the first students to emerge and make my way to the station wagon. The sooner I would get out, the greater our chances of avoiding the after school traffic jam.
Marissa BendickPublished 2 years ago in Families- Top Story - July 2022
The Passing of Time
My grandfather was an honest man. He spun words into dreams and old watches into gold. He never did own much other than the stories that he told. Yet, stories to a young boy, were worth more than the time he sold.
Will KearvellPublished 2 years ago in Families The Cole Bros The Greatest Show on Earth
My family, the Renbargers, had always been cursed with bad memory. Almost to the point of feeling crazy, where me, my dad, or my grandpa would put something down and immediately look down and it wasn’t there. My grandpa said it used to happen to his dad and his grandpa. Dates, events, and facts would just completely vanish from memory. The men in the family were always faithful and kind to our significant others so the memory thing was tough for the ladies in the family but I guess bearable. Even my girlfriend gets upset at my terrible memory, and thinks me telling her that I’m cursed is dumb and that I just don’t want to take blame, which is understandable.
Jeremy RenbargerPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesBeyond Father's Day Deadlines
From Beyond Fathers Day Deadlines The Power of Wow Written by C.Fuller Summer Solstice-2022
Charlotte FullerPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesThere once was a man
There once was a man who loved a girl more and more. He slew her dragons and built her a kingdom. It was her he deeply adored. I know this because I am that girl, and that man was my grandfather who changed my world forever.
LaRissa DawnPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesThe Good Ol' Days
As I come to the end of the fourth decade of my journey on this planet, I often find myself reflecting on everything that has led me to this point in life. I have much to be grateful for, but one thing that stands out to me is how fortunate I have been to have such an abundance of positive male figures in my life. Along with my father being a huge part of my upbringing, I also had the presence of my mom's father and step-dad and her grandfather, though he passed on early in my childhood. These were all wonderful men who brought a lot of attributes that shaped my values, but that man who most influenced my personal growth was my dad's step-father, Jodie... or "Grampa" as I would call him. I never got to know my dad's father, as he passed on and my grandmother remarried long before I was born. As nice as it would have been to know my biological grandfather, I do think that the powers that be somehow knew how much I needed someone like this man in my life.
Sissi SmithPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesMy China Plate
My dad is daggy, he’s funny and he’s also embarrassing. He is loving and caring but he’s also my best mate. However, don’t ever let him run over your foot with his car, otherwise he will ask you ‘is your foot tyred?’ While you are jumping around on the other foot in pain.
Untold
Eight years old is the age when a little girl should only have thoughts about what to dress her Barbie in, helping Dora the Explorer find her destination, or deciding if it is a pig-tail or pony-tail kind of day. A life where every visit to Grandma is one that you wrap her around your finger a little tighter and reap the rewards from being spoiled by her love.
Strong Women
My grandmother was the daughter of a freed slave and a mixed race mother. She ran away to marry my grandfather when she was only 15. My mother was the babygirl of 3 older sisters. When my grandmother left North Carolina she only had an 8th grade education. That was all most women of color were permitted in the 1920’s , if even that. My grandfather worked 3 jobs to take care of his family while my grandmother was a house wife. She would prepare breakfast for her family of 9 then read the newspaper every morning.
Karolyn Denson LandrieuxPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesDad Challenge
I have never consciously met my biological father. To me, he is merely a sperm donor who came and went. A fly-by-the-night addition to my life that has impacted me as much as my change in pants every night. A man for which I have very little interest in getting to know as he never made an effort in my life.
Ben ShelleyPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesBlack Bird, Bye Bye
The pallbearers mournfully placed the sleek gray casket in the hearse. I closed my eyes; I couldn’t look. The funeral director arranged the last of the flowers around the casket and slammed shut the door to the hearse. That harsh sound brought me back to a nightmarish reality that had started a month earlier—the day I drove to Gram’s apartment in Queens. There she stood, patiently waiting for me at the curb on Astoria Boulevard, oblivious to inner city dangers. Her body, once full bosomed and well padded, was now so small and thin that it all but disappeared in the folds of her black jersey knit blouse and pants. She clutched, with one had, her red cape just below the neck to keep the brisk spring air from her chest; with the other, she reached for my hand as I opened the van door to help her to her seat. Over the last few years, glaucoma and cataracts had fogged her vision and stripped the twinkle from her eyes, leaving only her voice to reflect her usual high-spirited frame of mind. Today, however, she appeared troubled and uncomfortable. Her shrill complaints about her failing health, the terrible things happening around the world, and all the members of her family who work so hard at paying her no mind were made continuously throughout our trip. I glanced at her through the rearview mirror. Her feathery dark brown hair separated from her once handsome soft pink face by a halo of gray hair, now crowned a deathlike ashen mask with features hardened, sharp, and deeply lined with seventy-five years of living. We pulled into the Medical Center parking lot. As our eyes met, it was apparent that we both sensed the impending outcome of her visit to the physician.
EVELYN DORNPublished 2 years ago in Families