“Do we have to go, mum?” moaned the teen girl. “Yeah, Cottesloe Beach sucks,” whined the 12-year-old boy. “Quit complaining you two, your grandfather is very lonely,” snapped mum. “You know how he has been since your grandmother passed, it will be nice of you two to show some compassion, I’m sure he will be happy to see you,” said the mother enthusiastically. “Whatever, grandpa won’t be happy to see us anyway he never is,” grumbled the siblings as they exited the room dragging their feet. Reluctantly the kids boarded their flight from Adelaide to Perth. “Well that flight was crap, let’s hurry up and get to grandpa’s.” After a 2-hour delay mums’ mood was as stormy as the weather. Their grandfather’s house was situated 2 minutes from the beach. You could smell the salty air and hear the waves crashing, …show more content…
Grandpa and Mum prepared a tasteless soup with undercooked, powdery potatoes, an undesirable meal that had pretty much summed up the twin’s time at Cottesloe Beach, boring and dull. “Thanks, Grandpa, that was delicious,” lied the siblings. “Hey grandpa, how’d you lose your leg?” blurted out the young boy. Grandpa face completely dropped you could see how much this subject disturbed him. You could cut the tension with a knife. After anxiously awaiting his response, grandpa finally looked like he was about to say something. Grandpa got up from the table and hobbled towards his favourite chair. “Let me tell you a story,” grumbled grandpa. Grandpa had always secretly liked it when his grandchildren came to visit, he just wasn’t sure how to get into their world. “Maybe this is my chance,” thought grandpa. The kids’ faces beamed with excitement as they sprinted towards grandpa’s chair, ready to hear the story of his missing leg. “I haven’t always been this grumpy, I know this might be hard to believe but I used to be a champion surfer,” said grandpa
Over time the young man married and had children beginning another transition, a rite of passage. The father now retired and reminiscing about his son called him, knowing he was a grandfather. He was proud and longed to visit with his son and see his grandchildren. He called him and said:
I can hear the pounding of the waves against the shore, moving rhythmically with the wind blowing past my face. I feel the hot sand surrounding my toes, only to be cooled down by the touch of the salty deep-blue sea. I listen to mom hysterically laugh as my dad tells another one of his “dad jokes” and as my older brother helps me keep my balance when the waves try to knock me over like a bowling pin. This is the descriptive story that brings me joy to tell my younger brother about my favorite Hawaiian trip before he was born, even though it is impossible for me to remember this from when I was only 3 years old. Why do I torture my brother by gloating to him about this perfect trip? I do it on account of what his birth imposed on me, the curse of being a middle child.
But his expression stopped me cold. His eyelids scrunched tightly and his head turned 30 degrees, like he was bracing for a punch. “I know I messed up,” he mumbled, “You don’t have to yell at me.”
When you got to ride along with Grandpa you never knew what kind of adventure you would have. Would we go somewhere extraordinary? No. Would we leave Sarpy
After he had sat with her, he got up and walked away to stand near the door. I sat in the chair next to her bed and the first thing I did was grab her hand, I dropped my head down because I knew our time was coming close to being done, what no one understands is how much of an impact she had on my life. There may have been an 83 year age difference between her and I, but she was my mentor, my story teller, my care provider, she gave me the best advice, she cooked the best food, she was the one I always aimed to make proud, but most of all she was my best friend. “It’s okay to cry, sweetie” said my dad. I didn’t want to cry though, that’s not what grandma would have wanted, but I couldn’t help it, I started to cry a little. How was my dad not crying yet? How could he stay so strong, he was much closer to her than I was, but somehow he managed to stay strong throughout all of it. I sat by her for probably 15 minutes holding her hand, I stood up, hugged her, whispered into her ear “I love you great grandma and I’ll see you when I get there”, I kissed her cheek and turned to leave the room. My dad was standing behind me and I walked into his arms and started crying, I couldn’t handle knowing that this could be the last time that I
“Grandma Linda looks different from the last time you saw her,” said my mom. “How is she doing?” I asked.
“No Braden, she’s not dead,” a deep voice, belonging to my dad, reassures my six-year-old little brother. I try to pull my hands toward my ribs in an attempt to sit up, but in return: an excruciating pain shoots through my left arm; a shrill sound comes out of my mouth; and tears start flowing down my face.
I remember vividly the weekends at his house. Sitting on his lap, going to wrestling matches, walking down the street or through a park--these were things I did with Grandpa. I wasn't just a kid to him: I was his granddaughter, and I was special. He was special too.
Ever since Sunset Beach has been officially opened to the public, there has been a drastic increase of tourists present. Television programs concluded that at least a thousand people visit the beach everyday. Reasons for their stay are that they feel comfortable with the environment that surrounds the beach front, people who are at the beach are joyous and numerous activities to enjoy, and the fresh scent of the sparkly waters, make the visitors feel calm and pleasurable. So I decided to take a trip there.
My grandfather may seem to be like every other grandfather, soft and caring. However, despite what one may assume my grandfather
I shrug not dignifying that with a response. "I just thought I'd tell you granny will be here
In America, there are many kinds of families. I decided to research parenting in the case that the Grandparent is a main caregiver. I also want to contrast the difference that parents have being a first-time parent, versus a being a parent as a grandparent. The book says, “In general, skipped-generation families have several strikes against them” but also says, “[the] discussion of grandparents who live with their grandchildren should not obscure the general fact that most grandparents enjoy their role…” (Berger, 486). With this, I am going to interview my sixty-seven-year-old grandma, she was forty-six when I was born and became a primary caregiver for me alongside my dad. I think that my grandma is going to say that she is glad that she was
grandmother coming home from work. Soon my real mom came by to “have a serious
“Dad, let’s go home,” shouted George over the deafening clatter of the home time bell. He was eager to get home because his mum was coming home from a week long work course. He had missed her terribly and I had too.
Thinking of surfing brought me to think about my brother who is a surfer. I reminisced about the times he and I had sat quietly in the ocean waiting to see that perfect bump in the horizon. He taught me a great lesson in surfing; you don’t always have to pick the first option because there are more opportunities to