Grandparenting

She was large, soft and warm

which protected us from her no-nonsense

obedience-is-not-optional style of living.

He was stern, gruff, taciturn, but couldn't

always hide a slim smile when we said or

did something that amused him. He was

tall, angular, hard-boned - nothing to shield

us from his stern, hard-boned exterior.

She loved us by feeding us with the food

of the gods in never ceasing supplies that

were divinely created from a humble gas

stove, chipped crockery and beaten utensils.

He was always busy in the shed, garage or

yard, never happy with playing children

interrupting important things that he liked to

get right the first time. He had no patience

to repair damaged plants, trees, toys,

fence palings and gates that had worked

properly beforehand.

His cure for a splinter was to sit you on

the back steps and wedge you between

the stern, hard brick wall of the house and

his stern, hard-boned body, clamp the

offended hand under his arm, and with a

large needle in his large hand, penetrate

your flesh beside the splinter and rip it out

with vigour and determination. Worked first

time every time, even if healing took a week

or two. There was an unspoken policy that

enforced the notion that whinging belonged

to wimps and women

Each to his own, they say.

And while we gravitated more towards the

soft, warm, comforts, in later years my

brothers and I discussed the merits of his

approach and found a new appreciation for

his silent, efficient, always effective actions

that produced the desired result with minimal

fuss.

MDC

October 2021