Remembered Threats Against the TV

Mike is back, so I'm back home. Oh, and despite what many of us were hoping, the reminiscing isn't wrapped up yet:

April,

Formerly little sis. Deanna and I are finally back from our kid-free vacation to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and if Deanna tells you our next vacation to Mexico will be with the kids, don’t believe her. Just because the Hotel Riu Vallarta had a pool set aside just for kids, and activities just for kids and daily excursion trips just for kids doesn’t mean that we should take kids along. After all, if my kids were there, I would not have gotten so much written about Leonard Driscoll and his adventures in my second novel Breaking the Windjammer. There is nothing like sitting on an ocean beach all day long with a laptop to fire the imagination of a novelist trying to understand a sailor’s life and the spectacular need the sailors had for a good sunblock. We also took the Pirate Ship excursion during one of our days there and I discovered that pirates, aside from being a bloodthirsty lot, also had quite a business in selling pirate t-shirts and other paraphernalia. Imagine how authentic my book is going to be, chocked full of these kinds of details.

In the meantime, I was able to get back to doing photo reminiscing with my daughter today, after I convinced her that there was not actually going to be a quiz if she didn’t do it (What were you telling the girl, formerly little sis?), but that she would not get her authentic pirate t-shirt Deanna bought for her, unless she did. There is nothing like a t-shirt with a skull-and-crossbones on it to inspire a young girl to look at old photos.

The violent nature of the pirate life in Mexico reminded me a lot of the more violent aspects of Grampa Jim back during my trip to visit him in Vancouver all those years ago. I told my daughter that Grampa Jim was notorious for threatening to blow up things to get his way, and back in those days I believed he was a demolitions expert in World War II. These days I know he spent his time repairing airplanes in WWII and never saw any action himself, but as an impressionable 6-year-old, when Grampa brings out the dynamite and the plunger with the line, you are inclined to believe him. Why he had that stuff in his garage I still do not know. I do know he kept it in a box labeled “Parenting Equipment.”

In the first picture I am sitting on the floor in front of the television, grasping my knees in fear at the disturbing programming on the television which was known as 1970s Vancouver local kids programmes. It was something with a puppet and a stick. It was terrifying and the picture shows my terror quite clearly. Grampa Jim approached with a book in his mutilated left hand and said, “Hi there, Mike---What do you say we read a book?” I told my daughter I remembered my response clearly. It was, “You want me to say we read a book?” Then my Grampa Jim said, “No. What do you say we read a book?” Then I said, “I think I would say ‘We read a book’ or do you mean in some other kind of language?” Then Grampa Jim said, “No. Not another language. I mean what do you say we read a book?” Then I gave up trying to understand him and said, “I’m watching this horrifying Vancouver kids programme.”

In the next picture, it showed Grampa Jim giving me his response, “You can watch that any day!---How often do you and I read a story?” I told my daughter I remembered my response clearly. It was, “Every day we’ve been here.” I reminded my daughter that just last week I showed her a picture of Grampa Jim reading Lizzie and me a story. She said, “Grampa Jim must have forgot.” I said, “Right, daughter. Every day, a story with Grampa Jim and they were these long books that lasted for hours. “Real Estate Investment for the Elderly” or “So, You’re Thinking about Dying.” It was great to have a break with a television programme, even if it was a scary Vancouver kids’ programme.”

In the next picture, Grampa Jim is in his chair with Lizzie and me and a book cutting off our ability to breathe, as Gramma Marian came up and said, “Well, I see Grampa hasn’t lost his touch!” My daughter said, “That’s Gramma Marian?” I said, “I think so.” My daughter said, “How can you tell?” I said, “She’s carrying her coffee in a coffee cup with tray and not a coffee mug.” My daughter had to concede the point. It was obviously not mom.

In the next picture we see Lizzie and me looking worried as Grampa Jim has a thought balloon going, “Because Grampa just threatened to blow up the T.V.” I remember that sense of worry which continued for most of the rest of my visit. Grampa Jim attaching the dynamite and the plunger to the television, and my protests of “No, Grampa. I don’t want to read the book about early retirement planning again!” Eventually the threats by Grampa won out. After all, I was only 6-years-old and not old enough to realize that Gramma Marian would beat the stuffing out of Grampa Jim if he really blew up the television. These days Grampa Jim is an old man who curses like an airman, because he supposedly has no control over his speech. Back in those days, Grampa Jim was simply the kindly old nutcase, who cursed like an airman and who thought nothing about pulling out dynamite and a plunger to make a point about the importance of reading.

Well, it’s good to be back from Mexico and I look forward to sharing more experiences with you, as the week progresses.

Love,
Michael Patterson

Hey, Mike, how do U know 4 sure there WON'T be a quiz? And if there is, R U sure U wd pass?!?

Poor Dee, it sounds like she musta been v. lonely during that vacation.

Apes