Chapter 202: wander with my grandkids

I go walking with my grandkids.  I suddenly see a gap in the stream of cars and grab my opportunity and rush across the road.

My grandkids linger on the footpath.

I find myself, by myself, on one side of the road with my grandkids huddling together in safety on the other side of the road. I hurriedly rush back across the road.

I say to my silent grandkids: “I just did the wrong thing. Can you tell me what did I do wrong?”

Bruce says: “You crossed the road.”

I say: “Yes that’s right. I crossed the road when it was not safe. I should have waited.”

I then say: “I will now show you the safe way to cross the road. Stand safe on the footpath. Look up and down the road. Tell me when it’s safe to cross the road.  Look this way and then that way.”

They then say all the right things and we cross safely.  We don’t rush.

As we wander further we approach a low brick fence. Kay and Gertrude argue about who is going first on the fence. Bruce just climbs up and walks along the fence dodging the bushes. They all follow him. They tell me, “You are not allowed up here.”

We continue our amble.  It occurs to me that making a mistake has been a good learning experience. My mistake has raised an important topic. It has helped reinforce the correct way to safely cross a dangerous road.

I notice Kay has a flower in her hair. She looks charming and cute but there must be a garden we have just passed which looks a little more barren.  Must mention to her if she picks a flower other people don’t get to see it. Maybe she picked a flower overlapping the path and getting in the way?

Further along we approach a big, annoying, barking dog.

I must get them to learn that this is a dog to avoid. That this dog is not one to pat. He looks ugly, scary and frightening. More a guard dog than a friendly pet dog.

I stick my hand between the palings and pretend to pat the dog.

I then say: “Whatever you do. Don’t do this. This dog is not one for patting.”

Kay says: “Why not?”  

I turn to face her and say: “Glad you said that.”

The dog grabs my finger. I feel the teeth pierce my skin. I feel the teeth grinding on my knuckles. I can even hear it. Ah that hurts. It really aches. Please let go.

I pull and pull and pull and eventually unite my blood stained hand with the rest of me. Blood drips on the footpath and on my pants.

I garb a hanky and hid my finger in it.

They laugh uncontrollably. They laugh loudly.

They nudge each other.  They all say to each other: “Did you see that?”

As well as laughing they are curious. They all watch the blood stain as it increases in size. They are fascinated as the bool stain grows.

They all want to look at my cut finger. I exhibit my finger.

They are now quiet. So I say: “What have we learnt?”

Kay: “Carry a handkerchief.”

Bruce: “That’s right. You always need a hanky.”

Kay: “That’s right. You don’t want blood on your clothes.”

As we wander on I realise I have made another mistake. It was a mistake to think they only learn from mistakes.

Chapter 201: What we talk about when we talk about being political correct

A few days ago I overheard one of my grandkids say: “She said I could come to her party.”

Today we take her to the birthday party. She jumps from the car; screams; runs past some balloons and aims for the front door. The birthday girl emerges. She sees Kay and her present. She smiles and rips the paper.

Her mother takes charge of a growing pile of used birthday paper.

Another lady decides everybody is now here. It is time for some games. She raises her arms and yells: “We are now going to play some games. Everybody sit down in a circle.” 

She organizes pass the parcel, pin the tail on the bilby, musical chairs and free time on the trampoline.

The adults play a game called find someone to talk with. The men play the game standing holding a beer while watching sizzling sausages. The women play the game in the kitchen. Discussing what plate to use, where the plate should go and how people should serve the food. 

I hear a man say: “Well I can’t tell you another joke like that. That is not politically correct.”

Another man says: “But it was funny. You’ve got to admit.”

Looking around I see the kids are all being very politically correct.

One of the kids has an obvious physical disability. The other kids think about what games he can play. They decide he can have slightly modified rules.

All the kids are aware that some of the kids have parents who come from faraway lands.  That they eat different foods.  All the kids accept all these differences.

I watch as everybody (boys and girls) playing with everybody.  

They are all being politically very correct.

A sausage finds itself in the flames. A cook picks it up, wipes it and puts it back.

A passing woman says: “Well that is just typical of men. That is what you expect of men.”

I then decide I will help the women arrange the food on the table.

A woman says to me: “I’ll do that. You go and have a drink.”

She points me back towards the scrum of men cooking the sausages. 

The table finishes up laden with fairy bread, sandwiches, little boys, a fruit platter, party pies and sausage rolls as well as sausages. My heart is cheered when I see a lot of the kids devour the fruit such as strawberries and water melon and banana. 

My cheer evaporates when I see the drinks available. The soft drinks depress me.  Soft drink is empty calories. Obesity leads to more health problems than tobacco. It is possible for these kids to enjoy yourself and have a good time and drink something healthy.

A party is exactly when you should set an example. Set trends. Change behaviour. Change the way people see various foods. They will remember.  Show people that you can enjoy yourself in the short term and be healthy in the long term at the same time.

My thoughts make me feel morose, glum and lonely. I can’t have any kids see that I’m unhappy.

I tell myself: “It’s a party. Enjoy yourself.” 

My wandering brain reconnects with reality. Mum enters grinning broadly. Holding the special cake. The status of her family depends on this cake. Shaped like a unicorn and impossible to cut.  

Candles appear and are lit.  Cameras are poised waiting for the birthday girl to blow the candles out. The song “Happy Birthday” arises. I don’t know which way the song will finish. I do know that all the kids think it is a happy birthday and all have behaved politically correct.

Chapter 200 : Bruce is happy

Today Bruce is happy. It is his birthday. He is happy with the Beyblade he has just received. He then shows me how to spin a  Beyblade. He plays a game against me. I then manage to increase his happiness. I do this by playing the game like a know-nothing old man and losing worse than the Giants did.   

He then tells me about the names of all the Beyblades he wants in the future.

I don’t want him to live in a society where he gets anything he wants anytime he wants. He understand this. He also understands that Beyblades costs money. That somebody somewhere has to pay for it. Either his parents, his friends, himself or me.

I want him to look forward to a new Beyblade; to dream about it and anticipate it. To eventually get it and eventually enjoy it.

He has been to many birthday parties but he knows that birthdays are about giving as much as about receiving. He gets a lot of pleasure out of giving exactly what that person wants. He reaps what he sows.

We then watch the TV news. There are is a cavalcade of stories about what should be done. They should spend more money on the hospital, housing, roads, or at his school. They should stop ramping; they should increase the number of hospital beds; they should build a new bridge; they should employ more nurses; they should employ more firefighters; they should do something about the traffic; they should build more public housing.

He agrees with everything that should be done. He agrees that everybody should get what they want and do what they want.

I imagine him living in a better society than what exists at present.  A society which spends more on health, education, public housing and our roads. This society will need more money to pay for more spending. I imagine this society will have increased GST or increased income tax or users will pay more.

I dream of him living in a society where people love paying tax. Where people love contributing to their society. At present people are proud to crowd fund for the unlucky few, love volunteering or happily donate to help cure cancer.  I want them to be as proud about paying tax. To welcome it as an opportunity to support and help others in our society.  Those who are mentally ill, disabled, unemployed, pensioned or suffering in a foreign country.

I want Bruce to think of the government’s budget the way he understands his family’s budget. He understands that in his family money comes in which pays for all the food, the clothing and toys. He understands the amount they spend is similar to the amount of money coming in.

I imagine him living in a society where he will continue to watch the daily news. Where what he says and thinks matters. That he contributes to the general conversation via newspapers, radio, TV or Facebook.  I imagine him, in the future, using these opportunities creatively and compassionately.

In the future I imagine him feeling connected to the politicians. Thinking that it is a worthwhile activity talking to the politicians. That they listen and do the right thing.  That they do what is right and best for his local community, his nation and his planet.

In the future when I imagine him talking or writing about some issue I imagine him as doing more than saying more money should be spent on... I imagine him talking about the raising of money. He will suggests increasing income tax or increasing the GST. He will talk about new taxes and different ways of raising money. Or creative ways of getting the user to pay more. Ways the council, State or Federal government can raise more money.

As I dream about taxes Bruce is in touch with reality. He gives me tips and advice on how to spin a Beyblade and then does it much better than me. He is happy.