I've been going over some random memories. Please excuse the incoherence.
I remember being around five years old and sliding belly down the banister of the stairs. I did it with my sister who is a year older than I am. The first few times we did it, we had loads of fun. We'd climb up the steps, throw one leg over the banister, hug it tight, and then release our grip so we can slide down.
Now, have I mentioned that this was an outdoor stairs? It was cemented and pebbled all around. When we slid, the rough surface would ride our shirts up, expose our tummies and thereby scratching them when we reach the bottom.
Neither of us made the connection right away. All we know is that we were playing and then all of a sudden, our tummies had scratches and blisters. Indeed, at this point I humbly play the I-was-five card.
And as how all hurt, disappointments, and injustices of the world were addressed back then, we ran crying to our mother. For some reason, our mother promptly asked our Kuya what he did to us that made us cry. I distinctly remember feeling sorry for Kuya and insisting to Mama that he had nothing to do with our (ahem) brilliant idea of a game.
I suppose it's hard to be an eldest child. But I'd like to think that it has equipped my brother with skills needed to be a good dad. My nephew's still eighteen months old, but I pray that he grows up to be a good person.
Right now, I hope it's not any indication that he trolls us during grocery shopping. When we're not looking, he stuffs the cart with everything his tiny hands could get. We once turned away from him for a few seconds in the frozen food aisle and afterwards found him clapping his hands in glee. We discovered half a dozen kielbasas in the cart as proof of his successful mischief. The funniest one I've heard of was when he, unable to chase his dad, threw the item in a bid to shoot it onto the cart. I'm sure when he's grown up, he'll use the I-was-one-and-a-half card.
And I know some might be annoyed that I am writing and talking about my nephew a whole lot. Truth is, I am actually already holding back as it is. He is such an adorable kid. And I have newfound sympathy and understanding for all parents or grandparents who incessantly bring up their kids and grandkids in every conversation.
This reminds me of the old lady I met during my twelve-freaking-hours flight delay. She's seventy-five years old, but very fit for her age. We got to talking for hours. For some reason, the elderly find me charming. (Now if I could just extend my demographic...) More than 40 years ago was the first wave of the demand for nurses abroad during the Marcos era. She was one of those who took this chance to migrate to London and has lived there ever since. During breakfast, she talked about her grandkids and told me how clever and funny they are. She whipped out a homemade Christmas card that they made for her. Enclosed was a picture of the kids, three and five years old. Beautiful kids, indeed.
I wonder how they are with grocery carts, though.
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