Meet my Grandparents

Meet my Grandparents

A Story by Lizzie A.

For when you eventually leave. I want you to remember, I want you to know what you've done for me.


Workshop �" Grandpa


Wood paneling lines the wall of the workshop. The light of a solitary bulb shines on weathered tools of varying shapes and sizes, each hung neatly on the peg board behind your workbench.

Yet, I hardly notice these details, as my 5 year old mind is solely occupied on the tenuous task set before me.

Building a boat.

You see, Chris and Andrew both made a boat. A curious affair with paper for sails. There is just something about paper for sails that sends one’s imagination soaring.

Could I say what?

Absolutely not.

All I know is that, I must have my own.

Strong, gentle hands guide mine as we draw the outline of the boat on a piece of scrap wood.

Firm and skilled movements fashion the base of my sailing apparatus, until finally it is time to fasten the sail. Excitedly, I run my boat out to the tub in the backyard. With much pomp and elation, I set it in the water and watch with pride as it floats beside my brothers’ creations.

You gave me……pride in my efforts.





Shopping conversations - Grandpa

A trip to the grocery store did not merely mean the picking up of groceries, oh NO sir.

When one travels to the grocery store with a certain Grandfather, there was always the distinct possibility of a sweet, iced and sprinkled something. Or, better yet, one of those delectable cheesy bread sticks.

Oh the JOYS!

After this particular excursion, whereupon I did indeed receive the prized food items, Grandpa broke the comfortable silence in the car with a simple question.

“Which one of your siblings would you say you get along with the least?”

A fair question to an 11 year old going through chemical adjustments in their brain while simultaneously learning what it means to be “one of the eldest” and “setting an example”.

I stutter in answering, obviously wanting my Grandpa to think the best of me.

“Well….. I guess Rochelle. Yeah, Rochelle. I would say we get along the least.”

“And why would that be?”

My face flushes as I try to explain how I personally felt about the 2 years-my-junior sister.

“It’s just that….well you know….. she’s always so good at everything. A-and I, I’m not. I can’t be good at all things. Like sports. And she’s pretty. And…….yeah.”

Gentle prompts.

“ And why would you say that? What makes you not good at anything?”


“Um…….. I guess I’m not sure?”

The words that follow work themselves into my brain, establishing a permanent home.

“ Wouldn’t you say that God created Esther as best at being Esther, and Rochelle at being Rochelle?”

This thought is foreign to me. Not that it hasn’t been said…… but assurance in one’s individuality?

You taught me I was purposed, created, precious.




Beauty - Grandma

At 9 years of age, I am aware that I am bigger than the other girls. I don’t quite cry about it yet…… there will be plenty of time for that In the future.

Right now, I’m feeling 75 percent wonderful in my brand-new Christmas outfit. The only catch it is that Rochelle has the same one. It irks me, because she’s “skinnier”, and even at this young age my eyes equate skinny with beauty.

My hair is up in a half up half down do that I am not wholly convinced about, as mum was the one who orchestrated it. I think it looks kind of weird. As you may know, when a beloved grandparent presents an idea, unfortunately the opinion of the biological parent who took the pain to BIRTH you into the world is temporarily moved to the side.

I locate my satiny, blue handbag that I adore. Carefully, the essentials for the evening are packed in.

My bible of course. Hair ties for my dubiously styled locks, pencils and pens for when I eventually lose interest in the Christmas eve sermon and start drawing for Grandma. Oh right….. grab the pink tube of lip balm. Just in case.

My sisters descend the stairs and before I round the corner, I hear my grandmother’s voice at the bottom of the steps. As I start clumping down in my usual graceful style, I meet my grandmother’s eyes. They are shining with warmth and kindness as she says….
“ Look at these beautiful girls! Duane, I’m going to have some competition tonight.”

Her contagious smile lights up her face and I giggle, suddenly feeling 100 percent confident that I am the most beautiful, unique girl on the face of the planet right now.



Corrie Ten Boom -Grandma

Snuggled up on the couch with you, listening as your lyrical voice brings the story of a courageous young woman alive for me.

Betsy’s sacrifice, Corrie’s perseverance. These will stay in my mind long after the story is over, as I remember the sincerity in your voice.


The Cherry Tree

Swaying back and forth, the canvas cloth of the hammock rubs on my bare legs and arms.

I don’t worry about being too heavy, because you are strong, Grandma.

Sunlight filters through the leaves and branches above my head. You are singing to me….. I can’t remember the words, but it was peaceful and gentle…… just like your spirit.

As I swing towards you, you pop a cherry in my open mouth. Sometimes I catch it, sometimes not and this is a hilarious affair.

The restless child is fully content.


Poison Ivy �" Grandma

I am abjectly miserable in my current situation. The drama queen in me wants to complain quite vocally about said predicament, but I am trying to keep a stiff upper lip as Grandma is here.

You are unendingly patient with the poultices, ice packs and encouraging words.

When it becomes too much and I eventually start crying, you sit there and hold me.

I still have your poem, Grandma. It hung on my wall for years.

You made me feel, heard.


Of instruments and song �" Grandma and Grandpa

Early music

I am not nervous. I will happily share with you ALL the music I can find. No matter what ditty I play, you applaud, smile, and ask for more.



I am a little nervous. I’m insecure about my own talents, especially my voice. Yet, you gloss over the imperfections and remind the perfectionist child that you were blessed despite all this.

Always “I would love to hear you sing for me!”

Always “That was beautiful my dear…..”

Never a harsh word. Never a criticism that was not uplifting.



Now, I sing and play for you because it is all I can give. No more fear, no more nerves. Just peace. One day your ears will close. Until then, I sing for you.















© 2022 Lizzie A.

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Until then, keep singing Liz :)

Posted 2 Weeks Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

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Added on January 6, 2022
Last Updated on January 6, 2022


Lizzie A.
Lizzie A.

CAMBRIDGE, Ontario, Canada

Subpar writer, really just enjoy drabbling. Music is my much more developed talent ;) Hoping that whatever I have to share helps someone in a small way. more..