Today, a story from my childhood.
When we lived in Maine we lived within walking distance from my Grammy and Poppop. We spent a lot of time together. Obviously. I mean you can only hang out with evergreens and black flies so often before you start to lose it.
My brother Rob and I (I was not yet 7, which puts Rob at 4) were going to head down to my grandparent's beach with my grandfather. Poppop told me in a firm way as only he can, that I am in no way whatsoever to head down to the beach with out him. He had to get something... I don't know what. Details. So Rob and I start talking. And Rob and I start walking. We walk pretty far. We walk down the flight of steps that leads to the beach. We step foot on the beach. I have my lightbulb moment here people. I grab Rob and hightail it back to Poppop's backyard hoping that he won't have come back yet.
He meets us half way. Poppop was the kind of person that could instill the fear of God in you with a single look. I knew I was busted and my argument of oh I just lost track of what my feet were doing wasn't flying.
Here comes the kicker. The clincher. I was spanked. By my grandfather.
Okay I'm sure your mouths are all hanging open with shock. I'm sure it was a gentle tap. I don't blame him whatsoever - I endangered my life and my little brother's life. I disobeyed a direct order, sir. I deserved it. My parents were supportive of his course of action (at least I never heard otherwise). I would hope that my parents would feel comfortable enough to discipline my children as if they were their own in the same way Poppop did.
I respected that man. I looked up to that man. I have often wondered if I have made that man proud. I wish I knew him better. The reason this is such a vivid memory is not that I was disciplined by a grandparent, but that I disappointed this man. The end.
Tomorrow's post: My fav blogs.
