My sister showed my grandma this QOTW
She just called to say she's very disappointed in me.

And she's concerned about some of the people who also shared some stories.

So my story is, this QOTW got me in trouble with my grandma.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Mon 6 Jun 2011, 0:40, 2 replies)

Casual racism - no offence intended
I'll never forget the day I came home from school to find my Nana and mum in the kitchen, surrounded by piles of delicious baking. My dear old Nan informed me that her and Mum "had been working like nigger-boys all day."

Oooh err.
(ElGranto, Mon 6 Jun 2011, 0:15, 3 replies)

My Gran = Awesome. This post contains many words.
I wrote this eulogy for my Gran almost exactly a year ago.

"My earliest memory of my gran is of my dad warning us to watch her on the roads and make sure she crossed them properly. I used to think this was his sneaky way of making sure me and my brother remembered to use the Green Cross Code, but after many years of having to stop her striding out in to the middle of the roads amidst heavy traffic, listening to her constant refrain of ‘I’ll cause more damage to that car than it’ll cause to me’, I’m not so sure.

Gran was the most independent, headstrong, stubborn, exasperating and bloody-minded women I have ever known. She was also one of the kindest. She never backed down from an argument, or confrontation. She wasn’t impressed by wealth, social status or job-titles, and I have seen her give many a jumped-up jobsworthsuch a telling-off, that they would silently contemplate a change in career or early retirement rather than run the risk of having to deal with her again. There are people who work for Manchester City Council who visibly pale (and occasionally curl into the foetal position and weep) at the very mention of her name. Rightly so – she was a formidable woman.

If I was to stand here and talk about her many and varied encounters with people in authority, I’d be here all week. Probably all year. So I shall keep it brief.

When I was ten years old, and she took me and my brother to our first proper demonstration. It was the first time I’d really heard my Gran swear, and it was in connection with what she’d like to do with the Poll Tax and Maggie Thatcher. She marched all day, and her anger was truly genuine. I think that tells you all you need to know about my Gran and where she stood.

It wasn’t always politics that roused her bolshy streak though. Litter was another of her pet hates, especially when it was outside her block of flats, spoiling the view from her balcony. I remember my Uncle Jeff complaining one evening about the fact that his security officers had been pulled off their normal duties to clear the litter around the Barclay’s Bank building where they worked. ‘Some woman came in complaining’ apparently, saying she was going to write a letter to head office unless something was done about the rubbish dumped in the shrubs.

As my Uncle waxed lyrical about mithering old ladies, it slowly dawned on my dad who had made the complaint. Head in hands, he confessed that the woman was indeed my Gran. I don’t know who was more mortified – my Uncle for possibly causing terrible offence by complaining about Gran, or my dad for the fact that myGran had read the riot act in her own inimitable style! It worked though. The rubbish was cleared, the security officers got some fresh air, and my gran’s view was once more unspoiled.

My gran never gave up on a cause she believed in and she never ‘put up and shut up’ for an easy life. It wasn’t in her nature. She never cared what people thought of her, she just did what she felt was the right thing to do. She would fight battles for those unable to fight for themselves, and she never turned her back on a situation she knew to be unfair.

She was a single mother who worked hard all her life to provide for her children. She was passionate about politics and the rights of the working class, and never let anyone make her ashamed of who she is and where she is from.

I love her to bits.

She’s given me four very important bits of advice: -

1) Always earn enough to pay your own rent, even if your husband or partner is paying it for you - you never know when you will need to be independent.

2) Never let any man talk down to you. Ever. They’ll never earn the right to make you feel stupid.

3) Love as much as is humanly possible, with no guilt, no shame, and no regrets. She taught me that I should be with someone because I wanted to be there, not because someone forced me into it, and that to deny myself love because I was ashamed, or worried about what people would think was stupid.

4) People in power only hold that power because you allow them to. If they abuse that power, you can take it away from them. This applies to relationships, employers, landlords, councils and the Government.

She would walk for miles to find the perfect spot for a picnic. If she heard of a good park, she’d not rest until she took us – and even at 65 years old, she always beat us to the swings. She blatantly cheated when pulling crackers at Christmas, and if you did manage to win, she had absolutely no shame in pinching your prize. She was sneaky too, and had sharp elbows if it looked like you might put up a fight.

In short, my Gran was awesome.

She was my playmate, my conspirator, my confidante but most of all, she was my best friend. To put those words in the past tense is more painful than I can say.

I will miss her.
( Wicca'd Witch needs ideas for a new sig on..., Sun 5 Jun 2011, 23:10, 4 replies)

Granddad was half-albino
in that his hair was completely white from cradle to grave but he didn't have pink eyes or anything like that.

Anyway the story goes that when he was 8 someone asked him why his hair was white and he replied, quick as a flash, "everyone's hair is this colour but only I wash it properly!"
(Jezziah, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 23:09, Reply)

Practical jokes
Back when I was in primary school, I used to stay at my grandparents' house in the country during the summer holidays when my folks were at work. Now, all those weeks off with nothing but Pong for amusement (this makes me sound older than I am- it was in fact the early 90's- but hence my point is made) were rather dull for my young brain, so I decided to engage it in an infinitely more worthy and amusing activity: grandparent baiting.

I spent long hours concocting (in hindsight rather brilliant) practical jokes. Some were quick and nasty, such as luring poor gran into the bath to turn the temperature of the shower up, which I allegedly couldn't reach, while waiting in the wings for the precise moment to pull the power cord and see her soaked (this worked particularly well just after she'd just had her perm done). Another involved setting the plates inside the cupboard on a sheet of cardboard with a length of string taped to it, then carefully tying the other end of the string to the outer handle so that when the door was opened...

However, true genius was tested in the long game.

The most memorable of these has stuck in my mind as it was one of the few instances where my frankly obvious input was not suspected. One afternoon when the grandfolks were out gardening, I sneaked into their normally off-limits bedroom and had a good look around. I spotted the alarm clock: as good a start as any. The normal alarm time of 7am was put back to 2am. Then the alarm clock was then positioned behind the radiator.
I noticed that the lightswitch was some distance from the bed, and my grandpa kept a torch on the bedside table in case there was ever a power cut (it was very, very dark in the country at night). The batteries came out of the torch and put into gran's pillowcase. Then, that not being quite good enough, the torch went under the mattress for good measure. I left the room and cackled my pleasure.

That night I was in a particularly gleeful mood, but my parents only found out why in the morning...

My gran called at 7. She said she had had a terrible night. For a start, the bed felt terribly uncomfortable and she found it hard to get to sleep. Then, at 2am, the alarm clock had gone off for some reason, and reaching for the torch she found it was gone. Something was rolling around the bed- some batteries. Confused, the alarm clock still shrilly ringing, she fumbled for it on the table. It wasn't there. Had to get up and turn on the bright light... still no sign of the alarm clock. Eventually the strange vibrating quality to its ringing pointed to the radiator. How very odd. But anyway, she was terribly sorry, but she was too tired to take me today. My mum would have to take some leave and look after me at home. Grandpa must've been changing the batteries in the alarm clock and set it on the windowsill, where the curtains had knocked it behind the radiator. No sign of the torch though.


My mum was furious, but unable to prove anything as confessions were not forthcoming. After a day carousing around the street with my friends and eating ice-cream, I returned to the Grandparents' house, where I carefully retrieved the torch and returned it to its rightful place. To this day they still don't know it was me.
(Second sign of madness, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 19:49, 17 replies)

It's at times like this
I wish Ray Stevens was a B3TAN.
(hiraeth SPACE £19.99. I say yer buy one yer get one free, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 16:36, 2 replies)

There's No One Quite Like Grandma
I remember catching the tail end of a radio comedy show and they did a 'skit' on that truly awful song. However the only lines I can remember are "There's no one quite like Grandma , she does not wear a bra, she puts her clothes on backwards but she still drives a car!" Oh well, many a true word.....
(Mackeson_drinker, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 15:01, 1 reply)

Grandma vs the Oxfam collector
My Grandma is a rather typical gran: loves baking, knitting, gardening, reminiscing about the war, doting on grandchildren oh, and casual hatred towards immigrants/'moslems'
One fateful day a young man from Oxfam knocks on her door asking Grandma for regular donations. "Mmm" says my Grandma "All right, but is it going to any of them Moslems? I don't want my money going to any of them Moslems" Isn't she lovely? The Oxfam man tries to pursuade her but he can see he's not going to win, so he leaves and tries next door.
Grandma shuts the door, then moments later when she wants to go out into the garden, realises she's locked herself in. There is a key, but it only opens the door from the outside for some reason. She contemplates the kitchen window, not suitable, so she opens the front window and looks for someone who can help
No-one around
Then she spies Oxfam man: "I say"
"I say, you, come back here. I'm locked in, I need you to come and let me out!"
Oxfam man sensed an opportunity and came back over, the key was passed through the window to Oxfam man and Grandma was let out. Once on the doorstep Grandma thanked Oxfam man for his assistance:
"But your still not getting any money for them moslems!" *slam*
( Peapod Has returned to the fold on, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 13:10, Reply)

long wandering post warning. Hungover so won't be well written and miss important details.
one grandmother died when my dad was young. he was brought up by his aunt, a legendary oldham powerhouse, and his dad. His dad was an utter fuck. Horrible man. He was a scrap merchant and occasional bare knuckle fighter amongst other things. One story is him asking my dad, who i think was about 8 and a latchkey kid, what would he do if he came home and turned the light on (early gas lamps) and someone was waiting for him. Couple of days later dad enters a pitch black house and as he reaches for whatever device turns the light on a hand rests on his own. Dad screamed the place down. For which he got punched across the room. Note my earlier mention of his bare knuckle fighting career. He didnt pull his blows by all accounts. (arse. I tear up when i think about the beating my old man got and i'm doing it now. poor little fellow.) Anyway my dad was taken in by his older sister and her husband and he became the dad my dad needed. RIP Uncle George.
On my mums side however i had proper nice batty grandparents. Grandad was village doctor and brought most of my home town into and out of the world. He was also an occultist, friend and doctor of Donald Campbell, climber, TT racer and friend of Geoff Duke. Spent all his money on motorbikes. If you have a few minutes, read this: www.uk-ufo.org/condign/casehoax2.htm Dr. Darbishire is my grandad, and his son Stephen my uncle.
Granny was lovely. Both granny and grandad called each other 'Tig', never known why, theirs was a proper love story. They spent the first evening of the honeymoon working out the perfect murder and raised the lovliest bunch of kids, and grandkids, i have the fortune to be related to :D I was badly bullied when i was a kid and when she heard she told me to leave school and come to her the moment it happened again. I arrived the next day and was greeted with a hug and a strong phonecall to the school. Lived with her for a couple of years. Sang like an angel, smoked like a demon, so much so she was known as Granny Fireplace to my cousins. Called 'The Dragon' by my dad. Favourite memory is when she had fallen over in the rose bushes AGAIN and the neighbours heard me walk out of the door to the garden and say "Oh for christs sake Gran! Again? you bloody idiot!" while laughing like a loon. She didnt mind one jot. She once broke her hip and said she felt like a fool lying on the floor. So i lay down next to her and we shared smokes until the ambulance men came. I wish i had had the time to get to know grandad properly and loved and miss my granny very much. RIP.
(DreddPirateBob has watched every scifi film ever on, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 13:02, Reply)

The boredom of retirement
A family friend. Alas, not my grandmother, but I wish she was.

Tied to an oxygen bottle, she'd be confined to the house and get bored, so she's take her boredom out on any stupid door knockers who chanced to knock on her door.

When the God Botherers came, she guilted them into mowing her lawn for a couple of months, "It's all well for you to swan about telling people how good life is, I'm on an oxygen bottle and my husband has a heart condition...". Some weeks later, "So you want to hear about God?". "No. You can fuck off now." Yes, she swore like a sailor. Liked a beer and a smoke too.
(xixax, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 11:47, Reply)

I've just remembered
My dad's mum lived on the same street as Craig Charles out of Red Dwarf when he was younger (he went to school with my uncle and was a fairly good friend by all accounts). According to her him and his brother were "...polite to your face but little shits the moment your back was turned."
( Funkenschlag still likes dogs more than cats, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 11:37, 2 replies)

With credit to Stephen Lynch (with NSFW link)
When Grandfather dies, life will be strange
When Grandfather dies, my whole life will change
When Grandfather dies, I'll scream and I'll yell
'Coz I'll be fucking rich as hell.

So Grandfather die, don't keep me in suspense
So Grandfather cough, up that inheritance
So Grandfather don't, hold on another day
I love you to death, but I gots bills to pay.

A stroke would be nice,
Disease would be cool,
I'll scatter his ashes in my new swimming pool
I'll party with Heff, I'll dine with the Queen,
So what's say we unplug that machine.

Oh Grandfather die, before the fiscal year,
Oh Grandfather I, wish Kevorkian were here
Oh Grandfather fly, just take your final bow.
Oh Grandfather die, family hates you any how.

For God sakes you must be as old as the Sun,
Your social security number is one
Your deaf, dumb and blind and an amputee
You donate your blood, every time that you pee.
Your arthritis acts up whenever it rains
Your so old your penis has varicose veins,
Oh why don't you die Grampa, why must you fight?
You old mother fucker, just walk toward the god damned light

Walk toward the light old man, walk toward the light old man
Its all over now, my Grandad is dead
A mysterious blow to his wrinkled old head.
Before I collect a small oversight
But everything should work alright
I'll start working on my Grandma tonight.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=IKZJM737Zl0
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 11:31, Reply)

My partners maternal grandma was a cool old bird with lots of interest and hobbies. She was a great collector of all sorts of stuff, and in particular she was a right into vexillology (studying and collecting flags). She had loads of them all over her house. On the other hand, my maternal grandma was a sour cow. She was a staunch monarchist, and an all round nasty, senile old boot.

My partners grandma, good grandma, lovely hearted soul that she was, would still invite the grumpy grandma over for a sherry by the fire on a Sunday afternoon. One time, after a tipple or two too many, grumpy grandma got all shitty and grabbed one of good grandmas favourite flags and threatened to throw it on the fire! Good grandma was not impressed and tried to calm her down, saying 'hey now' and grumpy grandma muttered some monarchist threats about her king being dressed in red or something and how she bet $5 he will kill you dead. Poor good grandma was terrified and reduced to uttering only gibberish like 'Iko Iko un-day' or some shit...
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 7:09, 1 reply)

My grandmother
was head of the Spiritualist Society in Wales. She was sent to prison for providing spirits to miners.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 6:38, 2 replies)

Pappou . . .
Long story to follow . . .

My grandfather (Dad's dad) was a farmer born in southern Greece in 1909. He lived for most of his 91 years in the same village (with the exception of military service and WWII, where he served at the front).
I first met him in 1985, the first time my folks, brother and I visited Greece on a holiday. At the time, he was 74 years old, and still getting up at 5am to tend the animals and fields (and spending time spoiling his grandchilren . . . )
I thought he was a legend. Witty, funny, and full of stories about any topic you could name. Articulate, well mannered and with the most beautiful handwriitng I'd ever seen (I still have letters he used to write to us here). My cousins in Greece at the time also used to tell me he spoke English, but he never demonstrated his skills, and since they couldn't speak English, they couldn't copy him.
Now, the ten year old me probably didn't make the connection (or, rather, see the discrepancy) between an old farmer and his well-educated manner. As I got older, he continually reinforced that I should do well at school, I should make sure I had a decent job (via letters or phone) - don't get too fussed about getting married (my grandmother had a big thing about me getting a good husband once I hit 16 or so).
In all my grandfather's stories, he didn't talk too much about his earlier life - ony my Dad would fill in the details. He finished a high school equivalent at 16, and should have gone onto some university education (since he did very well in his final exams), but he was one of seven chidren, with three unmarried sisters. Two of his brothers left for overseas, leaving him and one brother to provide a dowry for three girls. So, that's uni scratched then.
After his sisters were married, he then had to find a wife of his own. This was right at the beginning of WWII, which delayed a famiy somewhat. He was sent to the front (at that time, the Albanian border), in the early part of 1942 for a year. My aunt was born in 1944, a year after he got back, with three other children to follow.
He was the village scribe/writer of contracts for a very long time (as he was one of the few people who could write), and made a point of sending his only daughter to school (this was very unusual . . . many fathers didn't beieve it was necessary for a woman to read/write if her vocation was to keep house and have children). The "English" he could speak was actualy French, and on my last visit to him whilst he was still alive, he could still have a basic conversation in it.
In 2000, he was 91 years old and still a smarty-pants whenever on the phone:)
I got to tell him I had finished Uni, and he seemed genuinely happy.
Unfortunately, soon after, he got a chest infection that landed him in hospital (itself not a serious problem). He might have returned home, except for a medical fuck-up where he was left with an unrecordable bood pressure for a few hours and was presumed dead (note, not resuscitated, but presumed dead). My uncle was asked to make the necessary arrangements. He was then found to be breathing. During his "period of death" he had however suffered a heart attack, and became delerious. He was discharged home, and spent one week of claiming the Albanians were after him, and not recognising his own wife. On the day he died, he was lucid and knew he was going - he insisted on speaking with his children who were overseas. His funeral had 500 people in attendance (with the population of the village being about 300 at the time).
None of my grandparents are alive any longer, and I got to know three of them and loved them all, but eleven years on, I can't think about my grandfather without tearing up - that he won't be here to see his two grand-daughters (my neices), or to meet Mr Legless and give me his brutally honest opinion of him, or to see his only grand-daughter get married. I feel rather cheated by fate.
( Mrs Legless . . . belongs to, well, you know . . . :), Sun 5 Jun 2011, 6:11, 4 replies)

Albert
When I was six or seven I was at my granddads house one day and for some unknown reason I decided to kick him in the balls. "Daniel" he croaked "you must never, ever do that to me again"
(xwoody01, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 5:30, 1 reply)

My granny likes to tell the story of when she married my gramps.
That night, in their room, gramps came out of the bathroom, wearing a robe, my granny lay under the sheets. She noticed his feet, "what's wrong with your feet?"
"It's my toes, I had tolio when I was a kid." He said.
"You mean polio."
"No, tolio, it messed my toes up." Then granny saw his woefully knobby knees.
"What's the deal with your knees then?" asks Granny.
"I had the kneesles."
"The MEASLES?"
"No, the kneesles, it messed up my knees." He replied.
So granny said fine, slightly exasperated, and gramps slipped off his robe, to which granny exclaimed,
"OH! You must've had the smallcocks too!"
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 5:04, Reply)

I like my grandparents sense of humour
Two of my grandparents died before I was born and the other two died when I was very young, so i dont have too many memories or gems to relate apart from two.
My maternal nan once showed me a trick to play on my mum.
I think I must have been 6 or 7.
Sitting in the kitchen eating crisps with my nan when a big bumble bee flew in.
My nan caught the bee and put it in the crisp packet, twisted the packet closed and popped it into the dresser drawer.
Later on my mum asked if anyone knew where ( I forget what) was?
Nanna with a wink at me said 'yes its in the dresser drawer'
Mum then opened the drawer and screamed when a big angry bee flew out.
Seems the crisp packet had slowly unwound releasing the bee into the closed drawer.
I remember my nan roaring with laughter while my mum squealed and swatted.

My paternal grandad passed away when I was 8.
He was the absolute cliche of Werther Original grandads with a rocking chair, baccy pipe, antimacassars on the settee and Staffordshire Dogs on the mantelpiece.
Left in his care one day , he fed me some of his precious pomfret cakes and tried to teach me to play dominoes, he even got me to take a toke on his pipe and laughed wheezily when I spluttered and coughed.
Then he leaned forward and with a conspirational crook of the finger whispered 'listen to this'
And lifted up his buttocks and farted loudly with a giggle.
Being a nipper I found this funny until the stench hit me and I yelled 'Grandad!"
He then said something that I can only remember a bit of, but has always stayed with me
'Wherever you may be, let your wind roam free"
'In church or in chapel , let it rumble and rattle'
There was more Im sure but I just dont remember it and google hasn't helped
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 0:36, 2 replies)

My grandad was an awesome fisherman
In his retirement he had a small creel boat for catching lobsters. One day the bad-ass motherfucker caught a shark! No kidding. Here he is with it. The local paper came and took a photo. (The kid isn't me but my cousin).



(McChinaman banned, Sun 5 Jun 2011, 0:21, 4 replies)

My grandad doesnt talk about the war much.
as he was in charge of the gas tap and worked for the SS.
(robneymcplum spiced up his life on, Sat 4 Jun 2011, 19:17, 3 replies)

My grandparents (mum's side only) had the ability to override my mum when she was being strict which was ace....
Mum- No sweets before dinner!
Granny- Oh go on, just take a few, it'll be alright.
Me- Yes granny! (selective ignoring mum)

Mum- No opening christmas presents before lunch!
Grandad- Oh don't be so dull, you can't expect kids to wait. Let them open 3 before and the rest after.
Me- Yes grandad! (selectively ignoring mum).

Mum- You're not allowed to watch ITV as all the programs are poor quality rubbish.
Gran and Grandad - We'll just watch 3-2-1 and Metal Mickey and Make Me Laugh before tea.
Me- Me too please!

Mum- impotent for the duration.

Of course these things move on and now when I'm trying to be strict with my daughter and my parents interject with 'oh it'll be alright' and I just want to ask them why the hell they didn't mellow out, oooh, say about 25 years before so I would have had the benefit of it then...no fair!
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Sat 4 Jun 2011, 18:11, 1 reply)

My grandfather had a terrible sense of direction.
He also refused to ever admit he was lost or going the wrong way.

RIP Grandad.

(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 4 Jun 2011, 18:05, 7 replies)

Grandparents rock..
Due to having shit parents my grandparents were pretty pivotal when we were growing up, from taking us on day trips and holidays when we were young, to making sure I went to school when I was a stroppy teenager.

My paternal grandparents are very traditional, grandad was in the RAF and then a trucker, nan ran a shoe shop. They don't believe in sex before marriage, divorce, homosecuality or foreigners. Grandad taught me about cars, lorries, sarcastic phrases and how to make stuff from wood and nails, nan taught me about cooking and sewing and clothes.

My maternal grandparents were less traditional, divorcing before I was born. Grandad was a bit of a 'character', he'd been in prison for small things a few times, and nanna was always telling stories about his crazy money making schemes. He taught me about betting odds, card playing, how to lie convincingly and rock music. He died when I was little, but my kid has a lot of his personality traits, which is infuriuating and amusing in equal measure.

My nanna was the biggest influence on me growing up, I lived with her off and on for years, and she is simply the most amazing person I've ever met. She is the only person in my life who was there for me every single fucking time it counted, and no matter what I did or thought or didn't do I knew she would always have my back. There's no denying I was her favourite, and we were so close we'd know what each other was thinking more often than not. She gave me the confidence to walk away from dangerous situations and a fucker of an abusive relationship, and the confidence to come out to my family almost 10 years ago. She took no shit from anyone, but gave exactly what was needed at the right time. She died 5 years ago and I miss her every single day.
(flyme, Sat 4 Jun 2011, 18:05, 1 reply)

No Namby-Pamby Tolerance For Her, No Sir
My grandmother had a prominent sign on the wall of her living room. It read: "This is a Catholic home. Propaganda from other faiths will not be tolerated!"
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Sat 4 Jun 2011, 16:54, Reply)

My grandma grew up in Ireland.
Her family was fairly well-off and non-abusive. You can imagine how much of an outcast she was, and now she lives in poverty due to being unable to sell her biography.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 4 Jun 2011, 16:36, Reply)

My grandad doesnt talk about the war and the olden days anymore.
As he was diagnosed, then died of cancer in 1983.
(robneymcplum spiced up his life on, Sat 4 Jun 2011, 16:06, 2 replies)

My grandmother almost got arrested for tricking my uncle
Some back story, I live in Chattanooga, TN and we have this little park/attraction called Rock City. Back in the days of segregation there were two separate water fountains, one labelled "white only" and one "Colored Only." My grandmother told my uncle, who was about 6 at the time, the colored one was colored water because they weren't from a segregated state and had just moved to Tennessee. He ran over to see what different colors the water was, and got into some trouble.

Not that funny, I know. And yes, I spelled color in the American way, I did it for sake of the story, so fuck off.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Sat 4 Jun 2011, 15:28, 5 replies)

My maternal grandparents were nasty, sneaky old trouts. But did Granddad apologise from Beyond The Grave?
I used to dread going to stay with them. They didn't hit or grope me to get their kicks, far too sly for that. Instead they'd tell my mother that I'd misbehaved, knowing that she'd beat the living crap out of me.

As an example, Granddad once started slurping his drink at the table and winking at me, trying to get me to join in. Knowing it was a trap but not daring to refuse him I slurped too and he told Mother that I'd been making dirty noises while we were eating. Hardly sat down for a week after that belting.

Anyway...
He eventually croaked, unmourned by me, and I never thought about him from one year to the next. Then a few years back some relatives dragged me along to a Spiritualist meeting, where the medium picked me out and seemed to be passing on an apology from my grandfather on The Other Side. He'd been selfish and cruel to me when I was a child, it seemed, and he was very sorry.

I was a bit flabberghasted, as I hadn't told anyone about the grandparents' nasty ways. I'd only been a little kid, nobody would have believed me and it was in the past anyway. So how did she know? Had I really had a message from Behind The Veil?

Eventually I worked it out. The medium'd pick out a woman old enough to have a dead grandfather and fish a bit to find out whether she'd been fond of the old man. If she hadn't, the medium'd feed her the 'sorry for how I treated you' line. Every now and then she'd turn up someone whose granddad abused her. I bet there were often tears! That medium must've looked like a genius.

My own kids' grandparents were nice to them. If they hadn't been I'd have sacked them off. No, I don't believe he was sorry, either then or after he joined the Choir Invisibule.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 4 Jun 2011, 15:18, Reply)

When I was 16
my grandma told me to never be embarrassed to buy condoms. As she put it, "Don't be embarrassed to let people know you're getting laid."


I never thought I should've been embarrassed about fucking her anyway...
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Sat 4 Jun 2011, 15:14, 2 replies)

My dad's grandad
used to use him as a look-out for when my dad's nan was looking for him in the pub. He'd usually get a few pence to quickly run inside and give the old by a 'head's up' but would usually get a nice cake or pie or something if he didn't. From what I understand his grandad never seemed to catch on that my dad might do both.
( Funkenschlag still likes dogs more than cats, Sat 4 Jun 2011, 12:50, Reply)