Grandad

Grandad

“Sit up Rory for goodness sake.  No slouching at the table”

“Eat up Rory, no left overs at the table in this household”

“Use your knife & fork properly Rory for heavens sake”

“Use your napkin Rory”

It went on and on each and every mealtime. Rory hated the sound of the gong announcing lunch.  His stomach twisted and he felt sick.  Try as he might, he just could not please his father.  He wasn’t sitting straight enough, he forgot to use his napkin, he couldn’t cut up his meat- whatever he did was wrong and earned him a glare from his father and barked commands.  His mother tried to help but that made matters worse.

“Leave him alone Rose, not mollycoddling the boy” his father would snap and his mother would jump, sit back and smile nervously at Rory.

Rory was glad to escape from the table.  He never forgot to ask politely if he could leave – he was too anxious to get away and retreat to the playroom or the garden.  Sometimes he physically hated his father with a strength which frightened him.

As he grew older, mealtimes became easier as Rory had learned what pleased his father and there were less glares and heavy sighs.  Conversation was stilted between the two of them and his mother simply sat and smiled. She had learned long ago that was the path of least resistance where George was concerned.

Now Rory had children of his own and his small family regularly visited his parents for tea.

Rose and George presided over the dining table laid with a pristine white tablecloth but splattered with drops of sauce or gravy or the marks of food tipped from baby spoons and forks.  George smiled, laughed and teased his grandchildren.

“Here comes an aeroplane Simon” he would tease, flying a spoonful of spaghetti bolognese through the air and making whooshing sounds “Open up and let him in – good boy”

“Jenny, these are tiny trees” he would say, pointing to the broccoli “Tiny, tasty trees which the fairies would love you to eat.  They eat them all the time”.

“Oh Rachel, my darling, what have you done with that chocolate pudding?  I think its meant for your mouth, not the floor but never mind, it doesn’t matter”

Rory sat back in amazement. Who was this man?  He certainly wasn’t the father he remembered.  Laughter, talking and merriment at the table – it was unheard of.

Rose smiled. She knew how much George loved his grandchildren and he was fully aware of how he had treated Rory as a child.  His stroke had softened him, made him appreciate life more and to ease his strict standards with himself and those around him.