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As a hungry student who lived close to his grandfather, my plan was simple: visit him, act nice, eat lunch, lie that you have work at school, disappear before he starts telling stories about “back in the day’”.
Grandpa was a lovable person but his stories of his life before made it hard to enjoy his company. It all started after he lost his wife, my grandma, Mabel. Ever since if he is telling you a story, it always does not make sense. It is like he is the only one enjoying his story.
I was almost successful with the plan. I had finished a plate of boiled rice and was about to tell about my story about how I had so much schoolwork and had to get back to school immediately. But the old man beat me to it and grabbed my hand.
“Looking at you eat reminded me of back in the day in 1963, when I went to buy groundnuts...”
“Look, Grandpa, I would have loved to hear you tell me all about it, but I have to run. I have an assignment I need to submit.”
“Don’t worry, I won't take much of your time, I will be quick.”
I knew then that I had been trapped by grandpa again. He had held me hostage with his stories again. I just sat down there and listened to him go on and on about how he bought groundnuts at the railway station where he had gone to mail a letter to his friend. He continued on how groundnuts used to taste better back in the day before they started using chemicals to make groundnuts these days.
“Grandpa, who uses chemicals to make groundnut these days?’’
‘’The sellers, that’s why it's more white than brown.’
I stressed my mind to understand what he was saying because it all felt confusing from the start. I could not blame him, because my mother how told me before to always be patient with him because his brain was not sharp a it used to be back in the days.
I nodded politely, thinking maybe he’d circle back to how his story made sense to what I just ate. But he circled on to how coconuts was better than groundnut when sipping casava flakes because it coconut can not be tampered by humans.
I tried and tried to let him know that I was late and needed to rush back to school but he was too engrossed in his story which was now entering a different direction totally different from the first story he was telling me about groundnuts and coconuts.
Finally, after at least forty-five minutes, he reached the climax: “And that’s when I realized the letter I mailed was meant for your grandma, Mabel! But that was after I had finished the groundnut” he laughed out loud. Small tears were now coming out of his eyes like he was crying. But he was not. He was laughing. That was how grandpa used to laugh if he enjoyed his joke.
I stood up fast before he’d start another story. “I am going grandpa. I have an assignment to do.”
“I was about telling you about the time the governor hit me by accident?”
I did not stop to listen. If I give him any chance again he will start another story and keep me hostage. I did not want that.
“Next time, grandpa.” I said back to him and opened the door and ran away.
I love grandpa and his food but. Its just his story I did not like.
Lol
You can't blame Grandpa. All of them are fond of this. They have years of experience they can't help but want to share. So, share they must.
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STOPSome elderly people can be like that, stories! I'm sure you'll get used to it
Our grandparents told not only stories but they are filled with their life time emotions.