What’s Wrong With Grandad?

You’re right, you don’t even need to ask which Grandad, because one of them’s a “normal”, and the other very clearly isn’t.

Whenever I have talked about blaming my “parents” for the way I am, I did of course mean one of them, VERY MUCH more so than the other.  I mean Grandma’s nuts but we like her.  Everyone has one good parent and one we’d rather we could go back in time in a Dolorian to ensure our mother never met.  My Dad, your Grandad, is two parts Travis Bickle, to one part Alan Partridge.  He’s an unusual mix of psychotic and hilariously awkward.

I’m going to start with a positive example of this because in all honestly, on this blog I intend to slag him off a LOT.  One of the best things Grandad ever did for me, aside from figuratively burning an example-based manual on “How Not To Behave” into my psyche, is he gave me true inner self-confidence.

Grandad gave me inner self-confidence, not by spending quality-time with me (obviously you’ve met him – or the side of his head whilst he’s on his mobile anyway) but by always making sure I knew I was loved.

Now “ordinary” parents might do this by being available, asking about your day, or as we do, monitoring your every move as though you were made of porcelain.  Not Grandad, oh no, this is an example of one of the conversations we’d regularly have about how much he loved me:-


To My Eldest Child

“Not Werewolves Just Hairy” was my response to your first ever question, and it still stands, we are not werewolves, we’re just hairy.  You were seven when you asked, and I’ll never forget your disappointment at the answer.

Certainly, I do get a little cranky around a full moon and I can blunt a bic lady-shave with just a glance but I can say with some authority that is the extent of the similarity.  I’m not saying we’re not magical or mythical creatures of ANY kind, but until that Ancestry DNA test comes through we can’t know for sure exactly what percentage of us is Yeti.

I’m just going to repeat something here for clarity, it was your first EVER question, and you were SEVEN.  You skipped the early intense questioning phase most children go through, (“why is the sky blue?” “what are legs for?”) preferring instead your own special brand of “I already know EVERYTHING” spoken with an exasperated eye-roll.

At the time I was so proud of you for being independent and self-sufficient. A few short years later and we’re preparing for your SATS with me trying to cram 10 whole years’ worth of general knowledge into your reluctant little head in a few short weeks and frankly I regret not taking a more Victorian approach to parenting in your early years.

The truth though, is that not everyone goes through life in the same way, at the same time or with the same results, and I thought what if you go through the questioning phase MUCH later?  Like in your forties.  So this blog is to hopefully answer all the questions you might have when your curiosity finally surpasses the stage where you can be left in a locked room with a box marked “secret” and yet never open it.  (Seriously, how do you do that?!  I can spend four hours Googling one thing!)

This blog is for you, and for my more curious, and infinitely more dangerous, youngest child, and for anyone else who has similar questions they need answers to (non-legally-binding, casual, often random, answers) or for anyone who wants to share their own family quirks, questions and answers.

My first piece of advice is, ask MORE questions.  To clarify, that’s not the same as “question everything” (no-one likes that guy) but question often and thoughtfully, sometimes silently, but DO question, it’s important.