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Oh Abby. The mohawk is just the start of a beautiful relationship with your Grandpa..

27 Sep

By Sharon Thornton Montgomery on Wednesday, 23 June 2010 at 23:41

I’m giggling.

Not out loud, because that would be odd. (I’m supposed to be sleeping, and my daughter is right next to me.) But nevertheless, I’m giggling on the inside. It’s burbling up from my toes, through my knee caps, over my hips, and I’m keeping it at bay on top of my belly with some serious perma-grin and a note.

This is what the laughter is about: I’m remembering what my niece said to my dad this morning. Abby, who is a proud 4 year old, noticed that Grandpa T. didn’t exactly approve of the mohawk she was giving to her little brother Carter. He came close to examine it and gave a small hint that he would look better with it down on his head.

She looked at Grandpa for a second and said, “Gwampa, Caw-tah is only pwetending to have one. He is too young. Not like you, Gwandpa. You awah old old OLD. But you don’t have any ha-yah. Too bad.” Observant? Yes. Grandpa T. is bald as an egg, except for the base of his skull. And I should say at this point, a bit sensitive about it. He would rather have a flowing mane of locks, but alas, it’s not to be. The result to the comment was a bit of a scowl.

Now at this point, I would think that Abby would take the hint and change the subject, or at least go back to fixing Carters hair. Not so. She just plowed right on in her brutally honest way. (Somehow it works well, because she has an adorable voice. It’s probably why she has made it to the ripe old age of 4.)

“Gwampa, you awah so so SO old, but you cannot be 100 yet, because when you awah 100, you die and stay dead.” This seemed to be sound reasoning, so I didn’t step in, other than to shift away about a foot from where my dad was plastering on a patient face. He is also keenly sensitive about not being 30 anymore. In addition, he had just come back from a brisk walk with me, and was ticked that he had to slow down for me, a young whippersnapper. Maybe that could be why he started snorting steam from his nostrils. Not sure.

(Carter, by the way, was happily chewing on an IPod in his high chair, and was oblivious to the dangerous situation that was brewing. Ignorance is bliss.)

Abby then came over and touched her grandpa, kind of patting him on the arm in a maternal way and blurted, “Oh Gwampa, does it hoot to be old? I would give you a mohawk if you had mo-ah ha-uh, but you don’t because you awah too old to have ha-uh”.

She Promptly gave him a great big hug, said she loved him, and went back once more to Carter’s ‘do.

The look on my dad’s face was one of keen irritation. Then smiled. It melted his tantrum that was brewing. Once the hug came on, I could tell he was whipped. It explains why he keeps coming back for more, honestly. He is a grandkids boy, that’s for sure.

It highlighted my morning, and as I assisted Abby with her brother’s mohawk, and Grandpa went on to talk with his grandson, I realized that neither my dad, nor Abby would remember this moment as the funny moment it was. It deserved a good guffaw later. And that’s just what I am doing now. It came out as a snort, but I know what it meant.

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Posted by on September 27, 2011 in Life

 

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