I took a whirlwind trip to my hometown this past weekend…
-two baby showers
-a house often filled with parents, grandparents, brother, sister-in-law, two psycho dogs, and a cat with enough sense to hide from us most of the time
-five new mix CDs
-900 miles driven
And as often happens when we sit around with my grandparents, stories are remembered and retold. In this instance, Grampa – his name is Ab, and I’m going to call him that now, because it’s easier to type and incredibly endearing – was owning up to the number of things he forgets these days, and trying to remember how old I was that time I drove with them from Connecticut to Ohio (“You were three years old,” Gramma – Ann – tells me), and he was remembering how long that drive was, and how I sat upright in the backseat THE WHOLE DRIVE, looking out the window, asking questions, chatting about everything under the sun. And then, I offered to drive.
At this point, Ann always has to take over the story, because Ab doesn’t say the punchline with enough emphasis: “‘Grampaw,’ you said, at three-years-old, ‘Grampaw – is driving hard?’ You asked him if driving was hard, and then you offered to take over some of the driving for him. Isn’t that funny!?”
It’s interesting to me the stories told over and over again among family, that eventually become our own personal legend. This is one of mine.