An intruder in my life

The wrinkled skin of his hand enveloped my own pink hand, which was made all the more smaller in his. Grandfather and I shared a pleasant afternoon stroll in the local park, each step taking us away from what had once been. Such harmony between us as echoed in our identical pace had not always existed. Now, grandfather was no longer the incessant snores in the bedroom next to mine nor the long guttural sounds when he woke up at five o’clock in the morning to meditate. Less than twelve months before this precious reverie, he had been an intruder in my life.

When grandfather’s lease expired, it was my mother’s duty to take her father in. Our relationship faced obstacles from the start. Grandfather seemed to dominate everything I had to say: how did my Chinese speaking skills get so poor? Why wasn’t I at my desk at every hour? The fact that I forgotten many Cantonese expressions at the time, meant that a red brick wall was built as he could hardly comprehend my English either. Exciting school news was suppressed until my parents came home. He could have hardly understood what I spoke about or really care about my marks, as I used to think.

Grandfather’s extra-sensitive skin prevented him from using any deodorant. A reality, made all the more unbearable not only by the reddish sight of his skin on his less comfortable days, but also by the oatmeal soap he used. The effluvium would be reinforced after every shower when one whiff would permeate my entire being.

Dinner had to always be interrupted by his disdainful commentaries. It was either the soup, the rice, the flavouring, the saltiness, too dry or too sweet. Adding pressure for my exhausted mother at the conclusion of another long work day, he earned my opposition.

However, all such feelings changed when grandfather was rushed to hospital having fainted during his meditation. His courage and determination in recovering from the stroke was inspiring. His recovery also coincided with the commencement of a Chinese course at the Saturday School of Community Languages. I began to rediscover my cultural roots and his constant support with my homework was invaluable. A new respect had developed with his complete recovery.

Cultural and intergenerational differences can be overcome if both parties are willing to step into one another’s shoes. My grandfather’s mindset may have been traditional, but it was also my role to communicate my feelings and give him an opportunity to start on the right foot.

For a bit more stuff to read on coping with family and communicating your feelings, check out some ReachOut fact sheets and stories...

• The Importance Of Family(Fact sheet)
• Talking to friends or family(Fact sheet)
• Communication - getting the message across(Story)