I never can really understand why people get so frustrated with old people, sure they do things a bit slower than everyone else does, but how does that give them the right to get yelled at? Old people are just young people grown up. They’ve seen and done more in their lifetime than any person could ever imagine. I used to be one of those kids who were scared of the old wrinkly people over at our house every second day, who we were forced to hug. Then I took the time to get to know these strange people and found out that there not scary after all. I used to wonder that after you have taught your children everything you know and they have their kids, what is your purpose? That’s when those wrinkly people got renamed grandma or grandpa, and their former name seemed almost non-existent. When I was young I had this image of kind, loving grandparents, that never yelled and loved their grandchildren to death. The grandmother would sit in her rocking chair, knitting a jumper, waiting for her family to come on their weekly visit. And the grandfather would smoke a pipe, get his grandchildren to sit round him near a fire and tell of the good old days. My grandparents on my dads side did somewhat resemble the ideal grandparents, they didn’t

’t see me that often because they lived in Queensland, but I knew them well enough. My dads mother got renamed Nanny. She was a gorgeous lady, who had this amazing way with children. She knew exactly what presents to buy us kids at Christmas and we never got yelled at. Although she smoked like a chimney, and always stunk of cigarettes we loved her and nothing could change that. Nanny died when I was young, about 9 years old, so I don’t remember much more about her. Dad talks of her often, telling me that she would have been proud of me and that he misses her greatly. She meant the world to my dad and the day she died my dad was crushed. My grandfather on that side was renamed Gags (don’t ask me why!). He was a funny old man who visited regularly after Nanny passed away. I remember coming home after school and having the nicest chats with him. He had this way of making everything going wrong in my life seem so insignificant. Gags cleared my head, helped me come back to reality and think of solutions to all my troubles. He was the sort of grandfather who you kept nothing from, boy troubles, school problems, you name it and he knew. You might think this is a weird thing I had going on with Gags, but I loved being able to tell someone so important in my life everything without having to be embarrassed. When he visited my parents set him one small task, or project he liked to call it. He rebuilt our open fire, made a bike rack etc. One task I remember quite well was when he made this corner of the garden. Gags planted ferns, put fountains, rocks, pebbles, a huge Chinese lantern and a gorgeous statue of a gargoyle in. It took him weeks and was the best part of the garden in our back yard. If Gags wasn’t visiting and I had a problem, I would just look out into the garden, and although my problem wasn’t solved it cleared my head and made me think of the important things in life. When Gags died I could barely look into the garden, I would ge