Who's That Trip-Trapping Over My Bridge?!?

My mother returned to work after a parental sabbatical when I was under five years old. Her return to work as a secretary left me in the care of my maternal grandparents. My granddaddy was a magnificent man! He was fun and always spoiled me. Not in the traditional sense. My family isn't wealthy, but time, love, and knickknacks I thought were treasures were abundant. Like though, he was the fun while my grandmother was the heavy. Grandmother (Yes, that's what we called her. My husband makes fun of it because it is too formal in the world of Nana, MiMi, and Gran-Gran, but it is what she wanted to be called.) was saddled more with the work side of childcare. She cooked, cleaned, and managed me while Granddaddy looked for ways to engage and have fun. Each day, he would inform me he was ready for his beauty nap. It made me laugh each time because the thought of him sleeping to is old man looks was humorous. Grandmother also found great importance in day sleeping. Even when I no longer needed a nap, she would go through great lengths each day to encourage my slumber. Sometimes she would rock me and hum. Other times she would place a sheet over the rough, itchy upholstery of the couch and tell me to lay down and watch Sesame Street hoping I would drift off if I would lay still enough. My favorite method was when she would sit by the bed and read to me.

We had a stack of about 5 books at her house that we would read over and over. My favorite, by far, was a retelling of the classic "Three Billy Goats Gruff". I believe she ordered it from one of her AVON catalogs to reach her free shipping total once. The cover was a shade of light blue and the font of the title could be described as old English script. It had a golden spine but was half the size of the Little Golden Books I had at home. One of my favorite about the book was the predictability. something I still love and find so calming. Whether it be in music or reading or life in general, I love being able to see what is more than around the corner. Turns out that I would later discover that was a facet of my anxiety, but at the time I didn't know that. All I knew was each goat was going to cross that bridge and about midway across a grumpy, ugly troll was going to pop his face over the edge and , "WHO'S THAT TRIP-TRAPPING OVER MY BRIDGE?!". Each goat would stop and answer the hideous creature. The first two asked for mercy and told the troll to wait on their older brother. As an adult, I recognize this as a weasel move. not okay to save yourself by giving up your sibling to the carnivorous troll! I am hoping they knew beyond all reasonable doubt that the biggest Billy Goat Gruff would without a doubt headbutt that creepy creature into oblivion, but it still seems a little weak to leave him to fend for himself while you scamper off to enjoy the sweet green grass of the meadow on the other side.

Grandmother would sit by me as I laid there with my eyes wide opened looking at each illustration like I had never laid my eyes on it before. The troll is still a vivid memory. His long gray hair was bushy, long and unkempt while his face looked to be the cross of a lion and a large nosed human. He wore clothes but had a tail which peaked out the butt of his pants. The bare feet and hands of the troll had long, almost talon-like nails and each of his teeth came to sharp point. He was scary to be in an elementary level picture book. My favorite illustration of him was a depiction of him plummeting into the abyss beneath his bridge after Big Billy Goat Gruff headbutted him in their fight for control over the bridge. I now question how there was such a chasm to him to fall into when he lived near the surface and was able to all that trip-trapping, but I digress.

My grandmother saved this book long after I began attending public school and no longer stayed in her care. When I was pregnant with my first child, she gave me the books and VHS tapes that I had practically worn out while staying at her house. Part of this could be due to that fact that most of that side of my family tend to lean towards living as pack rats, but still special that she saved it and gave it to me. I am one of her youngest grandchildren. Plenty of my cousins had already established homes and given her great-grandchildren, but my treasures were saved for me. I have snuggled up with all my children, individually and as a group, and shared this wonderful book with them. I love reading the familiar and predictable text while creating specialized and silly voices for each character. love pausing throughout and letting them passionately shout out the lines of whatever character they determined to be their favorite ( the troll). Life is strange. People who were once a vital part of your every day existence change roles and become less important. They begin to escape your memory little by little. We often neglect them with mundane that seem of utter importance at the time. Then, out of the blue, a smell or a food or a phrase or a bedtime story will cause you to recall those moments you had with them. In those moments, I smile a soft smile and feel close to a person who is no longer with us. I wonder what moments I share with others that will one day cause that fluttering of happy nostalgia in them. I hope they are and I hope they are often.