Every time our grandchildren (Lizzie age 7 and Liam age 5) get in a car with their grandpa (my hubby) – they insist he tell them stories. Over time, I have heard The Headless Horseman at least 100 times, Journey to the Center of the Earth at least a dozen and many, many others. Lately, Lizzie and Liam started asking Grandpa to tell them a story of something terrible that happened to him. I was okay when he described how scary it was to meet the Loch Ness Monster and a Yeti – and I was even okay when he pretended to be Jonah and talked about the terror of being swallowed by a whale — but I finally had to draw the line when he started talking about being eaten by a bear and then passing through the bear’s digestive system – and living to tell the tale! So, I told the kids, no more “terrible” stories — Grandpa could only tell them about good things that happened to him. I should have been more specific.
The “good” story entailed how he met and fell in love with their grandmother (me). Sounds pretty innocuous since we were introduced by a mutual friend who the kids know. I should have remember that this was the individual who made two children believe he had been swallowed by a whale!
His memory of our first meeting, dating, engagement and marriage were a lot different from what I remembered. According to my hubby, he was just minding his own business, sitting alone on his lily pad when I came along.
Wait – a lily pad? How is that possible? Well, the story is that I discovered this poor frog all alone on a lily pad, kissed him and turned him into my husband. Liam and Lizzie completely loved this idea – which is a testament to how much they love and trust their grandfather – or a cry for help from a psychiatrist! Lizzie promptly asked him how many frog girlfriends he had, and he said he was lonely because his “ribbit” wasn’t as low as the other boy frogs’ – so the girls didn’t want to talk to him. But luckily, I came along and changed his life.
Grandpa’s stories never stay in the car — which explains why when I was having a very serious discussion with my daughter about how men’s butts disappear as they get older, so they start looking like a frog in pants — Lizzie piped up and said — “Well, maybe they were frogs like Grandpa when they were younger!”