2438. Grandpa puts his finger on it

(In 2437 stories we’ve never had a guest story-teller! The other day,  Noelle of SaylingAway, left a family tale in the comments which I repost here for all to see. Thank you Noelle!)

My son was not quite five when he started school (kindergarten). He took the bus after school all by himself to the YMCA. We were called by the YMCA Director after a week or two because she said he was making inappropriate gestures at the other children. We met her with my son and she told us he’d been giving the other children the middle finger. When we asked him about this, he said yes, he did, and held up his hand with his middle finger up but bent at the first joint.

I asked him what that meant and he said his grandfather did it (my Dad had terrible arthritis and couldn’t fully extend his finger) and had told my son when he did it, “This means I won’t be going to heaven.” The director sputtered and said we needed to tell our son what it really meant and not to do it. We laughed all the way home.

2392. The children’s swing

Penelope had long pestered her husband to make a swing for the grandchildren. There was a lovely oak tree on the back lawn with a branch perfect for a swing. It would be such fun. The seven grandchildren would spend hours there.

“It’s too dangerous,” Rex would say.

“What nonsense!” Penelope would say.

At last, with Penelope’s birthday coming up and grandchildren coming for the celebration, Rex did it! It didn’t take half as long as he had imagined it would. It wasn’t half as tricky he had imaging it would be.

The birthday came and went.

“See!” declared Penelope, “The grandchildren played all day on that swing. It was so safe! It was a perfect idea to have made it!”

If only she had known what the future held.

(P.S. I shall be taking some time out from blogging as has been done in the past! Probably a short break – as I’m trying to organize my music to become famous – and rich).

2012. Traditional wedding plans

Amanda was a solo mother. She had the one daughter, Anita, who was eighteen. Amanda knew that one day, perhaps sooner than later, Anita would get married. She knew that although Anita would say it doesn’t matter she really would like to have a lovely wedding. Nothing lavish; but a lovely wedding with flowers and pretty clothes and a modest but enjoyable feast. Of course, Amanda didn’t have much money but she had saved little bits for a long time. In fact, every Saturday Amanda would sell herbs growing in pots at the town’s Saturday Street Market. It was a dollar here and a dollar there.

Nineteen years earlier, Amanda had got married. She had always dreamed of a wedding. It ended up being “a rushed job” because Anita was on the way. Two weeks later, Kevin was killed in a car accident. It was partly why Amanda was determined to give Anita the best wedding possible.

Suddenly, an engagement was announced! Fintan was the loveliest. Amanda couldn’t have wished for a better possible son-in-law! His father was a lawyer, and Fintan was in his first year practising as a family doctor. Amanda couldn’t wait to meet his parents!

His parents said they’d pay for the wedding drinks; that was the tradition, and Amanda would pay for the rest. They suggested they limit the invited guests to two hundred each. Amanda said she didn’t think she knew that many people, and Fintan’s parents said that it was a good thing because they could invite more on their side to make up the numbers. It was, after all, a society wedding. He was an important lawyer in the town. Things had to be done properly.

What a mess it was for Amanda! What stress! She would have to tell Fintan’s parents that she couldn’t afford it. But first she would have to tell the happy couple.

Anita and Fintan laughed! They had a solution! They’d already thought it out. They were eloping. Tomorrow. And they did!

Fintan was disinherited. It didn’t matter too much because his medical practice flourished. These days Amanda has three grandchildren to help her on Saturdays at her herb stall. Fintan’s parents have no grandchildren; well, none that they care to know.