Week 12 Theme

 This is about my grandparents :)  
And these are only a few stories I know about my grandparents!

It's like that first time you put your hands up when you're riding a bike down a hill; that first time you realize you're doing something dangerous and something that you probably shouldn't do. It's an instant rush of feeling and power, almost. Like you're the chooser of your own destiny.
Sometimes, that's how I feel. So impossibly empowered, when in reality, I'm very powerless compared to this great big world.
I felt that way as I snuck behind the school that day to play a quick game of poker with my buddies. I didn't want her to see - even though the money I knew I'd win was going towards a milkshake for her - because she thought gambling was something only a weak person did.
I saw Tom and Robbie sitting under a maple tree with a deck of cards. I approached them and sat down.
"Donny! You decided to join us." Robbie said smugly as I sat down, "What did ya tell Jean this time?"
I half smiled, "That I had to meet a teacher and finish some math homework. So we better get this done real quick. You might as well just hand me your money now."
"Pffffft." Tom scoffed, "You think so, smart ass. Robbie, deal 'em out."
I put down a quarter and the other two put down two whole dollars. I already knew I'd win; they were being cocky. There's a difference between my confidence and their cockiness; I actually was good at poker.
After an all-too quick game and a few curse words from the other two, I walked away with three dollars and Tom and Robbie's dignity.
I walked towards the front of the school and saw that Jean was still there, waiting for me.
Under the sunlight, her bouncy dark curls were looking even more striking then usual. Her olive skin was glowing. She was sitting on a bench with her head over a book. Her legs were daintily crossed and she looked ladylike in her blue striped sundress. She looked up when she heard me coming.
Just like that... she smiled. Her Italian brown eyes were as warm as ever, and she snapped her book shut when I put my hand out to her.
"That didn't take long. Your teacher gave up on you, huh?" She teased.
I smiled and she took my hand, "You still pretending that you can read?"
We both laughed and started walking down the street towards the diner. On the way, she talked about the book she was reading and something funny her father had said the night before at dinner.
Hell, she might as well have been talking about how to build a nuclear bomb - I had no idea what she was saying. I just enjoyed hearing her talk. I liked watching her talk. She was passionate about the things she talked about. How much she loved wind chimes and the ocean.
We got there and I opened the door for her. She said thank you as she brushed past me, and I realized she smelt of sweat pea.
We were sat at a booth near a window and she ordered a chocolate milkshake, me a vanilla. It brought me joy that I could buy her a milkshake. Something so simple like that; a milkshake. Either way it made her happy.
"I'd like to have a farm someday." She said as our milkshakes came. She quickly picked the cherry off the top of hers and popped it into her mouth.
"A farm?" I asked as I handed her her straw.
She nodded, "Yes. A farm. I've always loved animals."
I chuckled, "Well, Jean, a farm is more then raising animals. It's a lot of hard work."
She took a sip from her milkshake, "I know. I've just always wanted one."
It was silent for a moment. I watched as the sunlight from the window reflected in her eyes. Her hands cupped her malt glass; she had the hands of a hard-working person. As beautiful and kind as Jean was, she was a hard nose and a smart ass just like me, only she looked better doing it.
We were seventeen, and I knew I'd spend the rest of my life with her.
And within the next year... we were hitched. 


Jean and I were in a bumpy old truck that was puttering up a rocky hill in eastern Ireland. She was holding the video camera and kept cursing when she couldn't get a steady shot.
This certain behavior of Jean's was something I always admired of her. She didn't do what anyone told her to do. She wanted to do what she wanted to do.
"Jean, look at this hill. You're not going to catch anything with that camera." I told her as we hit another bump that practically lifted her out of her seat.
"Shut up, Don." She snapped, "I want to make a video. Can't I just do that without you bothering me?"
I raised my hands and laughed, "Go right ahead, you coot. I know you. You'll watch that video and it'll be so shaky it'll give you motion sickness."
She scowled at me. I looked at her and shook my head. She drove my crazy, that woman. And I could only repay her by driving her just as equally mad.
We were traveling in Ireland and we had just spent five days in Italy. We visited some of her family members and saw where her parents were from - both her parents and my were stowaways to America. Only she was Italian and I was Irish.
Let's just say her family didn't like me, and I didn't like them. Old Italian coots.
Now we were on the way to where my family was from. All Jean had done thus far in Ireland was complain. Big surprise.
Jean and I arrived, finally, at the old village where my parents grew up. I helped her out of the old truck and she snapped at me when I made a remark about how long it took her to sit up.
The village was just like my parents used to tell me; stone houses and dirt paths, green rolling hills and not a touch of anything modern.
"What a dump." Jean said as she slung her bag over her shoulder.
I laughed, "Is it any better then that old village of clay you dragged me to?"
She furrowed her brow at me and we began walking.
The people were all friendly and said hello. People were walking dogs, carrying laundry baskets and tipping their hats as you walked by. It was very different from home.
We stayed at an inn that night, Jean tossing and turning all night complaining about the heat, and the next day we were off to the Blarney Castle.
The trip to the castle was just about as miserable and bumpy as the first one, and Jean was still hanging onto that camera.
Finally, we got to the castle and strayed away from a tour because we didn't want to be guided by an obnoxious guy in a suit who smiles too much. We slowly walked together down the dark corridors; holding hands here and there.
"This place is gigantic." Jean said as she examined the stone walls with her camera, "It's unlike any other place I've ever seen."
We walked around for a moment and I admired her figure as she stretched up to look at markings on the wall and bent over to look at things lower to the ground. Everything she saw she documented with the camera.
We both stayed quiet for a few moments. To most people, this silence would have been louder then any noise. To us, we were two young people enjoying each other's company.
"Wanna go kiss the stone?" I asked after a few minutes.
She looked away from her camera and at me, a confused look on her face, "Excuse me?"
I smiled, "Kiss the stone. The Blarney stone. It's an Irish legend."
"Well, if it's an Irish legend, that's exactly why I haven't ever heard of it."
I rolled my eyes, "It's right here in the castle. You kiss it and it gives you good luck."
She shrugged, "Why not? I could always use more luck in my life."
"Couldn't we all?" I agreed as I guided her towards where the stone is.
"Maybe that rock will give me a new husband. One that don't talk so much." She teased.
I couldn't help but laugh. We walked on and found the stone. People were all around looking at it and chattering about the history of it. It looked like just another piece of the castle, but you had to lean upside down, whilst holding onto an iron rail to kiss the stone. Jean and I approached the stone.
"Looks like every other rock I've ever seen." Jean said lowly.
"But this rock gives you eloquence and good luck when you kiss it." I corrected her. "I'll go first."
I leaned over the short stone wall and hung onto the iron bar. I kissed the stone and the people around all clapped and cheered.
"Feel any luckier?" She asked as I came up.
"Sure do!" I replied, "Your turn."
Jean rolled her eyes and handed the camera. She leaned over the wall, hung onto the bar and pressed her lips onto the stone.
I decided to be a smartass.
"Look everyone!" I yelled as loud as I could, "An Italian kissed the stone and it didn't even crack!"
Jean shot up as everyone started laughing and cheering. I joined them in laughing, but Jean didn't even crack a smile.
If looks could kill... Oh boy, I would've died right there.


I woke up, like I did every day, before the sun. Jean and I, almost as if it was biologically imprinted in us, woke sup together at this time every morning. Jean started breakfast, usually eggs and bacon, and I went to wake up the kids.
My hips were popping and hurting as I walked. My hips always hurt, especially this early in the morning. When I was a young man in the army, my hip disintegrated and I spent a good two years in and out of the hospital. You should've seen the man I was when I was in my prime, though. I had the honor of performing the color guard at the changing of the guards at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington National Cemetery. Yup, I was pretty sharp.
Now, I'm a crazy old man with a bad hip and a farm.
"Donny! Joyce!" I yelled up the stairs with the cowbell I frequently used to wake them up, "Wake up!"
It was summer, so the kids didn't have school but they still had to help with the farm. Breezy Hill Farm, we called it. That part was Jean's idea.
I heard them groan and roll out of bed. I went out into the kitchen.
"What's for breakfast, woman?" I asked my wife as she stood over the stone. As she got older, her hair started turning a tiny bit gray, but it was still mostly
"What do I cook you for breakfast every morning, Mr. Bergin? Eggs and bacon. We have four hundred chickens and thirty pigs. We're having eggs and bacon for breakfast for the rest of our lives."
I laughed smugly and laid a kiss on her cheek as I went into the bedroom and changed my clothes.
Once dressed, I saw my father in my reflection. My dark hair was graying very slightly, and my blue eyes were getting bluer as I got older. To most people, getting older is a scary thing. To me, nothing is really all that scary. I have a good family and I've been pretty lucky in my life. Getting older just shows I've earned it.
When I came out, the table was set. Donny and Joyce were sitting at the table. They looked like they had just fought their way out of hell. I call them kids... but Donny is 13 and Joyce is 17.
"This is why you kids shouldn't be out so late every night." I said as I sat down to eat breakfast with my family.
"We have a lot to do today." Jean said, "So, Don... Don't start."
I shrugged, "I was just making a suggestion to them."
We ate breakfast hurriedly and got ready to begin the day. We all were outside in time to see the sun start rising and the sky began to brighten.
"Donny, go feed the pigs and the horses and shovel slop." Jean said sternly. Donny nodded and headed towards the barn. "Joyce, go take care of the pheasants and the cows. They need to be fed and their stables need to be cleaned." Joyce followed directions as easily as Donny did.
"Well, Hile Hitler." I said sarcastically, "What's gotten into you this morning?"
"It's those damn chickens, that's what!" She cried, "There are too many of them, Don."
I waved my hand dismissively, "No, there are not. You can never have too many chickens."
Jean grabbed her head and tugged at her hair, "That's because you don't take care of them! I take care of them! Just like ever other mess around here!"
"I do to take care of them." I replied defensively, "I eat them and their eggs."
Jean let out a frustrated shriek and hurried into the house. She came out with a butcher knife and pointed it at me as she stormed passed me, "You think that you can tell me what to do, Mr. Bergin, but you've known me long enough to know that you have another thing coming."
"Jean, what are you doing?" I called after her as she hurried towards the chicken coops.
I went after her as fast as my hips and newly healed broken leg could take me. My feet were seeping in mud, which didn't help with my speed. By the time I got to the chicken coop and opened the door, Jean had already begun doing what I was trying to prevent her from doing.
There in the chicken coop was my beautiful olive-skinned, black-haired wife. She was screaming at the top of her lungs and chopping off the heads of countless of our chickens. She was angrily yelling at them and me as she did so, and I couldn't help but laugh at how much of a lunatic she was. A sight like this from a woman should have scared away a normal man - but I never said I was a normal man.
Once she was done she was breathing heavily and her eyes were wild. There were dead chickens everywhere and she looked up at me and threw the knife on the ground.
Honestly, I tried to stop myself from saying anything. I knew just how mad she was. But, the smart ass inside of me just couldn't help it.
I cleared my throat and said, "Well, you're going to be pretty angry with yourself when you have to clean this mess up."
Oh, boy.
If looks could kill, I would've been laying there with those dead chickens.