Sometimes the reading of a little golden nugget of a blog post will spark a long distant memory of one's own. This is the joy of having such an eclectic library at the end of your fingertips.
This morning Cro's Meanderings (http://magnonsmeanderings.blogspot.com/ ) told a rather bittersweet story which outlined a tiny moment in time when he suddenly matured as a young man.
And this rather gentle post reminded me of a painful growing up moment of my own from when I was a boy of around eight
When I was little, it was acceptable that housewives like my mother had a little help at home .My grandmother called up three times a week during the holidays and she would cook, clean , iron the clothes and provide a steady humorous environment for her bored grandchildren and her naturally anxious daughter.
When my sister and I was having lunch with my mother and grandmother one day, something rather funny struck me about this ' arrangement' and feeling rather pompous I chirped up at the table
" when Gran comes here she always gets all of her dinners for free"
I didn't get a reaction to what I thought was a clever comment so like a little smart arse I repeated myself several times , that was until my mother very quietly said
"That's not a very nice thing to say"
By that time, like most little boys with questionable social skills, I had already dug the hole and jumped into it, so as I was incessantly chipping "why? Why?" I was suddenly stopped by my twin sister who was looking at my grandmother.
I followed her gaze and was suddenly quietend when I saw a quiet hurt on my grandmother's face. She said nothing, but with her eyes never leaving her plate she silently and carefully ate her lunch with care and precision..
I think I learnt more about life in that one second than I ever had done in all of my eight years on this planet.
To this day, some forty two years later, I still remember my regret and shame at this silly little remark as if it only happened yesterday.
The quiet dignity of my grandmothers behaviour and the sad shame and uncharacteristic calmness shown by my mother at that dinner table will always be with me.