grandparents
Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
The Walker Derby
When my son, Ken reached his 17th birthday, we were sitting in the living room one summer Saturday afternoon when I noticed my son didn’t look right. He was pale, and his lips had a blueish tinge. Early the next Monday morning, I called work and explained my need for the day off. I immediately called my doctor and he suggested I take him to the clinic where blood work could be done immediately. My son was anemic. He was placed on an iron supplement and a change of diet. The wait began for his health to return. But what made him anemic in the first place was still undetermined or rather, explained as a poor teenage diet.
By Margaret Brennan4 years ago in Families
Dada, I Hardly Knew Ye
The first part My Dada died in 1963. I wish he’d died sooner. He had emigrated from Ireland to Canada with my Nana in 1961 to live with us, as my mother was an only child and she had discovered – when she and I went back to Belfast for a visit – that he’d had a stroke. My mother was made of sterner stuff than I. I would have immediately returned to Ireland to be with my parents, never mind my husband’s great ambitions that couldn’t be realized as a Catholic in 1950s’ Belfast. My mother – and I dither between the wisdom vs love in this – instead, with my father, brought my grandparents to Waterloo, Ontario, Canada, 3000 miles west from everything they’d ever known.
By Marie McGrath4 years ago in Families
Grandma's New Hobby
I am a beginning writer and a grandmother. When I found Vocal Media online, I was interested in writing stories to submit to the website, but I was also hesitant. Would I have any stories that others would want to read? What would I write about? Can I write well enough that I will avoid embarrassing myself? These were some of the questions that entered my thoughts when I considered whether to begin this journey.
By Cathy Money4 years ago in Families
Memories of Granny’s Place
As I glanced past the lit Christmas tree in the window, I could see endless rain pouring down and splashing into the large puddles that now filled the road outside my grandparents’ home. It didn’t feel like Christmas because it was such a wet day. But it made it a special memory.
By Verona Wauchope4 years ago in Families
Grandpa's Green Little Fisherman
How many of you have, or remember funny, heartwarming, inspirational stories or anecdotes about your grandparents? I'm sure that's a good majority of everyone. I believe I have lived an unordinary life, and have several stories hibernating inside my memory banks. This is one of those stories. The other day at work, while I was being super productive, (daydreaming away and nearly falling asleep while a thin line of drool hung off my chin) a memory of my grandfather popped into my head. Maybe my mental minions were cleaning out the junk drawers of my memory files and wanted me to make an executive decision on this memory. They wanted to know it this one would get sent to the trash file, or the keep for later file? I feel like a lot has been going to the trash without my input, so I decided to keep this little gem.
By Aaron Thompson4 years ago in Families
I'm Sorry Grandma
You always think you will have more time. It is a constant issue human's have. Procrastination. We know we shouldn't procrastinate family but sometimes we cannot help it. Life gets in the way. You get married, have kids and before long you are consumed and the days blur into each other. This is an open letter to my now deceased grandma for the guilt I carry.
By Ashleigh Holmes4 years ago in Families
Cecil Vizena
My Grandmother Vivian was born in Chapleau, a small French Canadian town in northern Ontario. This area was historically occupied by the Cree Nation. Her father, Cecil Vizena, was a known criminal in the area, although in a more romantic sense of the word. Instead of stealing, extorting or killing, my great grandfather was known primarily for one thing: Dynamite fishing. Which is just as it sounds, using high powered explosives to blast large quantities of fish out of the water. The dead fish would then float to the surface due to remnant air pockets in their bodies; to be easily collected at the fisherman’s leisure. While the use of dynamite on its own brings a general danger and menace to the public, it is not the only thing that put my great grandfather on the wrong side of the law. In the 1920s, during the time he operated, vagrancy laws (which essentially criminalized drifters and the homeless) were rampant. Cecil operated as a criminal, risking his life to feed the vagrant population of Chapleau. Interestingly, my grandfather’s escapades did not just extend to the downtrodden white population of Chapleau but involved feeding the aboriginal populations that surrounded it. Cecil was an outlaw who defied the Canadian government by directly offering aid to the Cree Nation.
By Griffen Helm4 years ago in Families
She Made Me Who I Am
Red, orange, and yellow, all fell blissfully from the giant oak tree that rests in front of grandmother's house on her green grassed lawn full of dandelions. Grandmother sat respectfully in her rocking chair on the front porch watching as mother nature transformed into the season of fall. Fall was her favorite season. Smiling, resting, and occasionally crocheting. Grandmother was extremely talented at crocheting. She made blankets, little baby booties, pot holders.. you name it. If you desired something or thought of something that she could make, she could, and would. She also loved baking and cooking. Can you guess who cooked for thanksgiving? And Christmas? What about who spoiled all the grandkids? Yep, you guessed correct my friend. It was always grandmother. Not only did grandmother have so many grandkids, but she also had 9 kids total of the family. It's a big family.
By Anonymousauthor2014 years ago in Families
