grandparents
Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
You and Me, Pal
I didn’t know that was going to be the last time that I saw him. If I had, I would have stayed longer, hugged him one more time, or maybe said something to get just one more laugh out of him. Then again, if I had known, I wouldn’t have left. Not knowing was a blessing and a curse, but I still consider myself one of the lucky ones. The last words my grandfather spoke to me were, “I love you, Ash,” as he twirled a lock of my hair.
By Ashley Schweitzer4 years ago in Families
Cracked Crabs
It's summer of 1983, and I'm seven-years-old. I sit adjacent to my mother in the front seat of our orange Gremlin. I crank the window down, and my hand becomes an airplane that flies through the already warm and sticky air. It's going to be another "scorcha", as my grandpa likes to say. It's only eight-thirty in the morning, but I'm already bouncing enthusiastically in my seat.
By STACY LABELLA4 years ago in Families
Mango
It was the summer of 2000, which for some reason sounds futuristic, and at the time it felt like it. It was a new era of so much more. My discman blasted Destiny’s Child into my ears, I couldn’t wait to get home and play The Sims and the nokia 3310 was soon to be exposed to the world not knowing that years later it would be a popular meme about how indestructible it is. What a time to be alive, and I didn’t even know it yet. I’d learn a lot about myself this summer, this lesson would come to me through something I’d least expect – mangoes.
By Joella Daniela4 years ago in Families
Childhood in a Cup
My Grandma Wendy passed away over ten years ago. I had only been five years old at the time, my mind too young to comprehend the permanence or finality of death. When my parents sat me down to tell me that my grandma wasn't coming to visit ever again all I could feel was confusion. I didn't know how I was supposed to respond. I didn't know what I was supposed to feel or think or do. Now, after all of these years, I understand that my grandma is somewhere within the golden gates of Heaven and won't be around any time soon. I have faith that one day I might see her again and I can just imagine the joy that will be felt on that day, however far away it may seem at this moment. Now, I understand that all I can do is treasure the memories I shared with her. One of my favorite memories is of her making the most amazing, nostalgic drink in the entire world. After all, nothing can beat an ice cold glass of chocolate milk.
By Amber Spencer4 years ago in Families
How often do you catch the pain behind the unwavering smile?
I often find myself visiting memories offered in your reads. I allow myself to flow without tooting one’s own horn in your series of self-discovery and reflection writing prompts. Helping me open the floodgates of my emotions.
By Divyata Dewan4 years ago in Families
A bowl of Macaroni and cheese and Grandma
One of my first memories is standing in my grandma's kitchen. Most of the memory isn't clear. A smile from my mom. A feeling of love and warmth. My grandma's laugh. The sound of a conversation I'm too young to follow. Mostly I remember how special I feel. The rest of the grandkids my brother, my cousins are still playing outside. I'm the only one in the kitchen just me, nobody else.
By The Invisible Writer4 years ago in Families
The Anatomy of an Ice Cream Float
Summer means St Andrews, and that, despite the passage of time, has always meant ice cream floats. The place, and taste, are so ingrained into my being that I can close my eyes and recall each change like a scar on the landscape of my world. A new building here, a cafe closed there - the expansion of the world and the shrinking of the family can all be held at bay by an ice cream float.
By S. A. Crawford4 years ago in Families
S'mores Summer Day
Waves from the lake lapping onto the shores. Picking up sticks and twigs among the lilacs, pines, and oaks. Then bringing them towards the fire pit for the nights campfire. My older cousin gathering sticks that are slightly deeper in the woods, along with helping to set up a few logs. The adults talking among themselves, setting up a few tents, a few chuckles can be heard from a joke or story that had happened from the months prior. While a few go in and out of the cabin, getting everything set for the next few days.
By Ashley Tenold4 years ago in Families
Remembrances of Corned Beef Hash
The coolest thing just happened. I’m working on a jewelry project and after re-shaping some sterling silver wire with a torch, I had to let it “pickle” – that is, rest in a weak acid bath to clean up any heat discoloration. While I waited, I went up to the attic where we have our extra storage to get a roll of paper towels. There’s a little cubby hole in the wall at the top of the stairs that we hadn’t yet looked in after my husband and I moved into my grandparents' old apartment, upstairs from the one I grew up in and where my mom still lives. Just for kicks I decided to open the door and see if there was anything in there. Mostly it was just junk – scraps of wallpaper and a jar of dried-up wallpaper paste that’s probably older than I am.
By Randi O'Malley Smith4 years ago in Families
Harvest. Top Story - June 2022.
The sun had not even begun to crest the horizon when I heard the clang of pans in the kitchen, followed by the crack and sizzle of eggs frying. Grandma Nellie did not even try to be quiet. She wasn’t too used to having others in the house. Besides, it wouldn’t be long before MaNet, her daughter and my grandmother, would creep into the bedroom to gently rouse my brother and me. The smell of bread toasting to a near black wafted like lit charcoal across the bed linens and was quickly replaced by the sweet, salty scent of bologna hitting the cast iron.
By Andrew Forrest Baker4 years ago in Families
Why Do Grandpa Always Tell The Same Stories
“When I lived in Segovia...”, “When I was in America...”, “When I worked on the train...” This is how many older people begin to narrate pieces of their history, between nostalgia and hope to find someone to listen to them. But sometimes it's not easy, because history repeats itself over and over again and they end up always telling the same thing.
By Nouman ul haq4 years ago in Families
