A Long Line of Good People

I’ve recently realized that I come from a long line of good people. Rather than telling you about the awesomeness that is each individual relative of mine, I’d like to share a Charlie-ism. For those of you who don’t know, Charlie is my grandfather on my dad’s side, aka the one I got my red hair and flair from. If you’d bare with me, I’d like to tell a story of his: 

Thursday morning my dad and I sat around the small circular table in my grandfather Charlie’s nook of a dining room. 

“Hey, I got a story for ya,” Charlie called from the kitchen while preparing perfectly square multigrain waffles for our breakfast.

My dad and I sipped on our Irish coffees and awaited a famous Charlie-ism that was bound to take place. 

“Have you ever heard of the wee people?” Charlie continued. 

Considering Charlie’s an 87 year old man who still refers to people from Asia as Orientals, I figured he was incorrectly referring to little people, but I didn’t stop him.

“Well when I was a boy I went to Aunt Marge’s house. Now she’s your great, great, great, great aunt.” She’s not. She’s only my great great aunt, but once again I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of the Charlie-ism. 

“Aunt Marge pulled me aside and warned me about these wee people,” Charlie began as he meticulously placed a single blueberry in each waffle square. “She said ‘Charlie, you better watch out for these wee people. They come out in the early morning and at night looking for pots of gold at the end of rainbows, and if you’re not careful they’ll snatch you up.’ Now I knew there was something fishy about this story of Aunt Marge’s, so when I got a bit older I mustered up the nerve to ask Aunt Marge if she really believed in wee people. She looked me square in the eye and said ‘Oh heavens Charlie, I don’t believe in wee people! But they do exist.’” Charlie concluded with a howl of a laugh before diving into his whipped cream covered waffle. 

I can only hope that one day I’ll be telling my grandchildren ludicrous stories sprinkled with out of date (and occasionally politically incorrect) terminology. Of course, by that time I’ll be telling stories in holograph form via my hovercraft.