posted
I should be at Lake Webster, in my grandparent's cottage.
All my siblings should be there too. We should be fishing, swimming (escaping the stinky muck!), paddle-boating...and best of all, when grandpa pulls out the speed boat...tubing.
Man, do I miss tubing.
I miss seeing the Dixie paddle by at night.
I miss all of the great food Grandma would fix.
I miss watching Bozo on WGN.
Most of all, I miss that too-rare time spent with my grandparents. Playing Crazy Eights, going to get fishing supplies.
posted
You're lucky that you have those memories. My memories of time spent with my grandparents are not nearly so pleasant. My grandparents on my dad's side always kept to themselves.
Dad's grandma would, you know, sorta do normal grandmotherly things but she wasn't really warm about it. And she kept very strict rules in her house. She was also kinda bipolar, with a tendency for rather intense and sudden mood swings. Dad's grandpa barely ever said anything, though when he did it was always rather amusing. Most things out of his mouth were sarcastic.
On my mom's side my grandma was half-Romanian Jew and half Sicilian: loud, emotional, and more than a little overbearing. Again with the strict rules and need for order in her house. I really never got a long with her. Grandpa again was quiet, laid back, always a little out of it it seemed. He was always a little bit deaf.
At this point both grandpa's have intense short term memory loss, and mom's grandpa is almost completely deaf. Dad's grandpa definitely has Alzheimer's. Dad's grandma has lost even the semblances of warmth she used to have and is just stressed and grumpy.
Treasure your good memories of grandparents. They're something special Posts: 3295 | Registered: Jun 2004
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posted
I miss my adopted mom's mom. I would stay with her for a week during the summers when I was maybe ages 6-11. We'd go on long walks down the cul-de-sac street where she lived, into the cemetery, and visit Grandpa's grave. Before she died, she was bedridden for 2 years. It was a tough time for my mom.
posted
If you haven't grown up in the south, you've never really experienced a fully, full-on Summer.
Going down to the dam and wading in the roaring water with a 50-ft drop a few feet away.
Having your several-years-older female cousin offer to show you her boobies, "so it's not such a big deal when you see them for real."
Stealing cigarettes from your uncles' packs while they're off peeing between rounds of bones. Smoking them under the steps of the National Guard armory that your family's rented out for your family reunion.
Going to the big corporate mall two towns over and seeing that girl you've been desperately, headlong in love with for years. Going up to her, at the urging of your friends, and making inane (and probably, in retrospect, bewildering to her) small talk.
Doing yardwork and other chores to scrape together the money to give to your best friend's older brother so he'll buy you some booze.
Fireflies. Not just the one or two you see in the city--so many fireflies you can read a newspaper from their light. Catching them in some old glass jars, and putting them in your basement or treehouse or whatever you and your cousins are using for your headquarters, for light.
Fireworks. Blowing up toads and fish and the occasional water moccasin with them.
Real, honest-to-God country. None of that pop-rock Nashville crap. Good, old-school Amarillo and San Antone and Houston country.
posted
I used to catch a lot of crayfish in the creek. There was also a fair amount of taking our bikes apart, putting the back together, and jumping off ramps with them.
We'd also play games in our front yard. Someone broke an arm nearly every year.
It didn't seem nice at the time, but waking up in the middle of the night and realizing you never changed out of your bathing suit, that is uniquely summer youth.
Posts: 11017 | Registered: Apr 2003
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