me, it was very convincing, as was the belief that we would keep the £1 at the bottom of a bowl if we could grab it in one attempt.
Of course, while blindfolded, the bowl would be swapped for the turkey’s giblets and gravy—yuck! Those games taught me a new feeling; repulsion. But I did enjoy being teased.
Gramps’ all-time favorite game was the “dribbling cup.” Unbeknown to me, at seven, he took a drinking glass with an etched design and drilled some tiny holes that were virtually invisible. The idea was that when you tried to drink from it; the liquid would spill everywhere.
“My glass is broken!” I cried, embarrassed.
“Don’t be silly. You’re just dribbling. Turn the glass to the other side,” Gramps answered, straight-faced.
I took another sip and another. Each time, the drink would spill over my chin. So, everybody in the room was having a chuckle at my expense. When he saw I was at my wits’ end, he revealed the trick and a little bit of wisdom. “Life is for living and laughing,” he said. I adored that he wanted to have fun with me.
Somewhere along the way, I began to take life too seriously. I forgot to laugh at my silly little foibles. As you’ll soon discover, I’ve strayed far from Gramps’ advice. The good news is I now recognize that.
~
As a kid, I always looked forward to the family summer holidays with Nan and Gramps, which usually coincided with his birthday on June 27. Gramps would swap his usual smart attire for a polo shirt and shorts and down cold Carlsberg pints in the scorching sunshine with Dad. Then there were the wine tasting trips where there was no limit. Bottle after bottle was opened. Watching adults get sloshed then walk in the heat clinking bottles like teenagers, amused Shelly and me.
~
My most memorable Gramps’ moment—one that still brings a tear to my eye—was him teaching me to waltz.
I was about eight at the time. We danced at Gramps’ Ruby wedding party (40 years). I can still picture the smile on his face. My hair was curled, and I wore a green and black glitter taffeta dress and black patent shoes. He smiled, took my hand, and we stepped onto the dance floor beneath a large mirror disco ball. I was nervous and self-conscious. In fact, I was totally clueless. I didn’t know what a Waltz was, let alone, the dance steps.
“It’s easy, just follow my lead,” Gramps said.
Then he took me in his arms, and we danced. It was magical. All was right with the world. Gramps made me feel like a special princess and his smile, as we glided across the dance floor, melted my heart. I wanted the moment to last forever!
~
Gramps always made me believe there was nothing I couldn’t do or achieve. The speech he gave at my 18th birthday said it all.
“I could pay tribute to Vicki’s many gifts—her appearance, her charm, and her caring attitude towards others,” he said, “but I’m sure most of you know about those.
“I’d like to recognize her outstanding academic achievements at school and her first-class reports since starting technical college.
“In addition to her studies, Vicki has undertaken part-time jobs, and her employers have all spoken very highly of her.
“Finally, I’d like to wish her well and success in her ambitions and aspirations for university, which she will start later this year.
“Please raise a toast to my dear sweet granddaughter!”
That autumn (fall), I became the first person in the family to go to university. I packed my belongings, left home, said a tearful goodbye, and entered an exciting new life chapter.
As he and I hugged, he whispered, “Make Gramps proud.” We both had tears in our eyes. All I ever wanted to do was to make him proud, and I did for a very long time. God, I idolized him!
Sadly, Gramps passed away in 2010 at the age of 72, after a short, sudden illness. He deserved to live far longer. Both Auntie Sandra and Uncle Reg had died during my childhood, but I did not recall how it felt. Losing Gramps was an entirely different matter. It was traumatic. It felt as though someone had punched a fist through my chest and torn my heart out with their bare hands. That was the first time my body and mind was consumed by grief and despair. I’d lost a part of me and life would never ever be the same again.
One of the biggest regrets in my life to date is I never got to dance at my wedding with Gramps. If only I could go back in time and relieve that night; Waltz as we’d done in the past. His early departure had a traumatic effect on my life for years to come. I’m still angry and bitter with the angels who stole my Gramps from me. I’ll never get over it.
Gramps’ early demise taught me that sometimes life just happens. We cannot change fate. So, when we lose those we love and cherish long before their time, some of us learn to weather life’s inevitable storms, while some of us get terribly lost in the very same storms.
4.
MY PORKY PIE
“The real history of consciousness starts with one’s first lie.”
― Joseph Brodsky
1988…
My first porky pie (innocent fib) was never intended to hurt anyone’s feelings. I was just the new girl at a new school, and I wanted to be liked.
It was more like Shelly’s and my “little secret.” Ironically, it was the first of many lies to come!
Becket Primary had a non-school-uniform policy. We could wear whatever we wanted. Cool, hey? Except Mum dressed us identically. Don’t get me wrong; we were the best-dressed kids, in posh embroidery Anglaise dresses with satin ribbon bows around our waists.
You name it, we wore it, and yes, we looked beautiful, but we hated being matching. Shelly, two years older, was more annoyed than me. One day she came up with a rather creative solution: “It’s simple,” explained Shelly, “we just tuck some spare clothes into our bags and change in the garages before we head to school!”
“What, the block of public garages behind other people’s homes?”
“Yeah!”
“Suppose someone sees us changing? Or Mum walks past during break time and notices we have changed?” I worried.
“It will be fine,” responded Shelly. “Plus, Mum never walks past the school!”
It was naughty betraying Mum, but I wanted to look cool in class. Imagine, I could wear what I wanted. My first selection was a pair of baby blue callots shorts (ones that look like a skirt) and a matching top that tied in the front. Since I was worried Mum would notice a lot of clothes were missing, I wore the same outfit every day that first week. I’m sure the teachers noticed, but they never said a thing.
As a kid, there would be many more fibs and cover-ups: spilling nail polish on the sofa, breaking a china basket ornament and gluing it back together with toothpaste, and searching the house top to bottom in the weeks before Christmas to find our presents.
As
