Write Stories To Me, Grandpa! | Page 7

other forms of professionally polished commercial

entertainment that thrust themselves forward for his or her attention. In
so choosing, the youngster notifies the grandparents through his/her
appeal that they, the grandparents, are wanted and needed. It's
Grandchild reaching out and inviting Grandma and Grandpa into his or
her world, with affection.
In single-parent families and in families in which both parents work
away from home, there might not be as many opportunities to pass
along traditions, awareness, and values. Be that as it may, throughout
history the family and tribal elders passed their knowledge and codes of
conduct on to those who, as part of the natural process, carry the
torches into the future. This responsibility to family and community is
in the substance of existence.
LIVING HISTORY
For many of us, our lives are keyed to significant events, transitions,
locales, or something that has importance to ourselves or to our
families. For me, the important events and episodes happened to be on
a time-line by location: the places where my family resided over the
years. I spent the first twenty-five years of my life in the city where I
was born and raised. Afterward, a few years in a distant city, then on to
another and still another, each invariably distant and different than
before.
After I retired, I took the time to make notes on as many important
events that I could recall, and keyed each to a geographic location. I
gave each episode a title or sketched a brief outline that would
stimulate my memory to the place and help me to talk about it. My list
began with city A: my preschool and school years (with several
sub-headings because those times had been chaotic); the Great
Depression, the first job, etc. City B: why I was there; the job; etc. I
continued on to the next and the next.
When I finished my initial list of 'cities' or 'countries' and numbered
them I found that I had more than one hundred events, episodes or time
periods. I arranged them so that one followed the other as they had
occurred or were otherwise linked. That became my outline.

I took the list along when I visited my grandchildren (my daughter had
briefed the family beforehand about Grandpa's list.) Evenings, relaxed
at the table after dinner, Grandson or Granddaughter would call out, for
example, 'Grandpa! Number 67!' I made a big deal out of hauling the
list from my back pocket, carefully unfolding it, locating the number
and reading the title aloud. Then, on to chin-rubbing, head scratching,
ceiling staring, and after enough 'C'mon, grandpa! Get with it!' from all
directions I went into my act, narrating in words, tone, gestures, and
body language the events of oft-told 'Number 67', or whatever number
they had chosen.
They would listen, spellbound and cut in with comments and questions.
To them, it was their family history and often, drama, and they really
want to know. Invariably, the story was followed with reminiscences
by their Mom and Dad who added variations, details, interpretations
from their memories, and spin off comparable events in their lives,
often long into the wee hours.
Autobiography became living history-the occasion of the telling is now
an event not to be forgotten-and the finest kind of intergenerational
communication.
FOLK TALES
An old, old man lived in the home of his son. The son had a wife and a
young son of his own. At meal times the old man sat at the kitchen
table. His eyes were dim and he barely saw; his ears were dull and he
barely heard, and his hands trembled. He had difficulty holding his
spoon as he tried to feed himself broth from a bowl. Now and then a
few drops fell from his spoon on to the tablecloth, or the bowl tipped
too far, spilling.
His son and his son's wife were disgusted at the sight of him. Finally,
one day, after the old man's trembling hand caused the bowl to fall to
the floor and break, they gave him an old wooden bowl, and made him
sit with it out of sight behind the stove. At mealtimes, they put food
into the wooden bowl and left the old man alone to manage as best he
could.

One evening, after dinner, they were all in the sitting room. The old
man's son noticed that his own young son had gathered few pieces of
wood and stored them in a corner among his playthings.
'What have you there?' The youngster's father pointed to the wood.
The child looked up. 'I am making wooden bowls,' he answered quietly,
'for you and for Mommy to eat out of when I am grown, and you are
both very old.'
I received a letter from a woman of Japanese