The Grandparent Game

by Alex J Allen

Grandparents, weird little people, aren't they? There's a hundred different paths I could take with the statement, but have you noticed how, essentially, being old seems a lot like being at school. You haven't really got money to worry about, your pension takes care of that (in theory), so you don't have to go to work. You're eyesight is probably worsening daily, so the DVLA put you on the 'intensive, regular driving test plan' until you eventually fail and have your licence revoked, so you haven't got a car to maintain either. So you're almost back to being a child (and bear with me because I'm going somewhere with this), albeit older, more wrinkly and generally less agreeable. And instead of hanging around the playground, or the cornershop, they hang out outside the Co-op. But instead of swapping Panini stickers, they've got, well, you. As far as I understand, there are only three jobs that really impress grandparents; astronaut, Prime Minister, or doctor (which they seem to have the misguided notion that you can just apply for, regardless of prior experience and scientific capacity).

So, if they can show their ageing comrades a photo of you on your wedding day, that's a shiny sticker. If they can show their friends a picture of you with a stethescope, that's a shiny sticker. If they can show a picture of you with your new born child, that's a shiny sticker. If you're not doing so well, taken a job just to get by for a while, that's a 1997 Ugo Ehiogu double. I recently suffered the indignity of lose mantle piece space to a framed picture of my aunt's new born baby, that this gran has never actually met, and isn't even related to! Evidently, I'm just not doing the business anymore. It's amazing how grandparents don't seem to feel the same constraints of compulsory love that parents do. You have to earn the love! Those cheques in the birthday cards aren't for nothing, what have you done for them lately, eh? Joyce's son is training to be an architect, and he's driving a Lexis! I like to think that there are some official rules to this game, maybe some kind of pool, and the monthly owner (the right word choice?) of the best grandchildren wins a kilogram of sherbet lemons, but it's probably just something to do until it's time to turn the TV volume up to full, and stick on Coronation Street.