Oops There Goes The Tale

Oops there goes the tale….

Most of us can remember our grandparents in a certain light. Trips to the store where they bought us toys, and candy. Cabinets STACKED with sugar. Hot cocoa shots instead of coffee, the guest bedroom, our own play room. I remember all of that from my childhood.

It was probably because we lived close to my grandparents, but I was over at their house almost every other weekend from ages four to eleven. I used to love the luxury of unlimited sugar, and tv all day. The sweet treat of hot chocolate in the mornings since my grandma’s coffee was too bitter (and the fact that energetic, tiny me definitely didn’t need the caffeine). The toy collection that we (the grandkids) had in our sacred room upstairs. Ahh the simple days, right?

Our grandparents shape our lives in ways we don’t realize, whether they be good or bad ways. Because of this, there are some things we remember definitively about our grandparents. The little tiny quirks about the way they talked. The specific treats they’d feed us. The places we’d go together on a regular basis. For young me, all of that is etched in my brain.

However, one thing I remember specifically about my grandmother is the stories she told us. As the firstborn (at least on my parent’s side) I, naturally, had the most memories at her house, and the most ‘special items’ there. There was one large book of bedtime stories that she’d read to me nearly every night I came to stay. It was a bright teal color with yellow dots, and cute little animals in the front circle. Basically, it consisted of a bunch of folk tales, all about morals such as honesty, and kindness, and basic stories like ‘The Emperor's New Clothes’. I really loved that book.

However, this isn’t the TALE about a soft and sappy book that taught morals and used ill-behaved little forest animals to do so. This is about the stories that my grandma told from her memory. The ones about her as a kid, my mother as a kid, the ones about average, day to day mishaps, and the ones about all of my other relatives. The true ones were my favorite.

I can remember lying in bed with the lights out (probably way later than they should have been), glasses of water on the nightstand, and the covers pulled in close. I was supposed to be asleep, but my grandma knew the drill.

“Can you tell me the story about uncle Richard and his pet bunny again?” My tiny voice would whisper, followed by a slew of giggles.

I knew the story by heart, actually I still do, and ironically, I never knew my late uncle Richard. He died barely a year before I was born. Nonetheless though, that story was by far my favorite, and it only sounded right coming from my grandmother’s mouth. It’s quite simple, and goes as follows:

When my uncle was a little boy, probably around my age at the time, my great aunt brought him a rabbit for one of the various holidays. I can’t remember if it was Easter or Christmas, but nonetheless, my uncle had himself a silky, white, pet rabbit. It was probably sweet and innocent, or at least that was how I imagined it, hopping around on the white tile floor with my tiny uncle in tow. Well, as a given, my uncle loved that rabbit, even though he was a little too young to understand the responsibilities of pet care.

One day, though, (I always imagined it happening in the morning for some odd reason), my uncle yanked that rabbit off the ground.

And up came a fluffy little rabbit tail.

No fluffy little bunny followed.

The screams, and sobs ensued. The bunny was probably in pain, and terrified. My uncle was just as sad and scared with tears streaming down his cheeks. I can imagine everyone else present was tearing up fighting back laughter though, or at least I would’ve been, but maybe I’m just mean.

Anyhoo.

The point is, at that moment I would ensue in hysterical laughter, and every other time I stayed the night, I would ask my grandmother to tell me my favorite bedtime story about Uncle Richard pulling the tail off the bunny rabbit. Oh, how I wish that event had been caught on camera. I don’t know why, but somehow, despite knowing every word of the story, I would burst out in laughter over and over again. There was just something about the way she told it that made it incomparable to the long book stories I read by day.

Sometimes the funniest stories are the ones that leave the greatest mark on us. I mean really, what does it take to snatch the tail off of a rabbit? It’s just another example why rabbits shouldn’t be given as gifts to little kids.

I loved being told that story because it made me laugh. From six, all the way to my current age, it still makes me laugh. So, tell stories that make people laugh. Maybe the embarrassing, funny ones are the ones really worth telling. Even if it’s to a seven-year-old at bedtime.

*Side note* Jeff (I don’t know his actual name) the bunny was just fine, and rushed to a vet where he then proceeded to live a long life. Just with lack of a tail.

However, his lack of a tail, gave a great tale to tell (I am so proud of that pun).

Signed,

Rambles 4 You