The Power of a Grandfather’s Love

I write about fantasy worlds, historical kingdoms, and serene forests. I write to escape. I became a writer because of my pain. When I was young, the children at school were cruel to me. I had to craft worlds to get away from them. Their ridiculing of me was so harsh that, although I am a writer, I was at a loss for words when it came to thinking of something to say back to them. I was so deeply offended that I could only remain silent.

When the summer came, I had a real escape. I went to visit my grandfather in India. Slowly, my grandfather’s words built me back up. His praise mended the shattered pieces of my heart. Grandfather would have no problem with standing up for me, even when I couldn’t stand up for myself. It was all in the little things. When I put my money on the counter of a market stall, I got something which wasn’t quite what I asked for. I decided to take it anyway, even though I was disappointed. But my grandfather would not accept this. He would correct the market vendor and demand the finest quality for me.

My grandfather is opinionated and strong-willed, but he also has a big heart. He also loved gardening and had the most beautiful garden. I’ve never seen greener grass anywhere. The flowers were fragrant. He planted fruit trees. Monkeys would come sometimes, and lizards. There was no greater joy for me than sitting there with my bare feet in the grass.

Months of avoiding interaction with other students at school for fear of bullying had resulted in a book, one of my own creation. It had hand-drawn illustrations and the story was about a girl who time-travelled to the Aztec empire. More escapism. It was self-published before I turned twelve. I flipped through it as I sat in my grandfather’s garden.

He invited his friends, some well-educated people. They sat with me in the garden as they had tea. My grandfather showed them my book and they flipped through it in fascination. My grandfather boasted about me, said I would be a great writer someday. I was embarrassed at first, but as I became confident enough to accept his praise, I started talking more. I answered the questions that his friends asked me. Naturally, I began speaking highly of myself and I didn’t need my grandfather to do it for me. I accepted that it really was a great thing I did, writing a novel at that age.

There is no love like a proud grandfather’s. It changed my life. Now, whenever I am getting ready for a job interview, or when I know I have to leave a good impression on someone, I think of what my grandfather would say about me. I’m not scared of being arrogant, because I know my grandfather only gives credit where it is deserved. I owe all my accomplishments, and all my future success, to the mindset that he gave me.