Open Writing

'If you don't come further inshore the rip will take you, and you'll drown.'

'Aw! Poppy, can't I swim a little further?'

'No, Peter come closer where I can see you.'

The top of his grandson's head came into view from the under the waves. Blonde hair plastered wet. His feet touched the bottom and he ran on stick-like legs towards the old man standing where the sea met the sand. The man was short and dark. No one would take them for relatives. Peter ran up, spraying his grandfather with water and then flopped down on the sand.

'What's it like to be really old like you Poppy?'

'What do mean really old?' He pushed the laughing boy.

The two sat, the man on the sand, the boy just in the water. Over the beach the sun was reaching its afternoon zenith and would soon begin to fall. The old man smiled down at his grandson. At times like these he enjoyed the boy's company, his spirit and mischief. Peter's mother had ordered them both out of the house while she finished the preparations for Peter's tenth birthday party

'Do you know what an elder is?' The grandfather asked, arcing his back that was aching already from sitting on the hard sand. Little aches and pains caught him unaware these days.

'Someone who's really old?'

'No, that's elderly. An elder is someone who is old but has influence.'

The boy sat quietly in the swirling water knowing his grandfather was going to try to explain. He talked a lot about old age recently.

'An elder is someone who is old but respected. When we lived in tribes the people listened to their elders. The elders stayed with the family. They taught the younger ones everyday skills and about the tribe's history.'

'But we don't have tribes now.' The boy was struggling to understand; his grandfather sighed.

'No, we live in cities now. People believe most elder skills are not needed. You have to be famous before anyone listens to you.'

'At school they told us not to believe anyone just because they're famous.'

Peter thought he knew what was troubling his grandfather. He was afraid of being put in a home. Peter had heard his mother and grandfather arguing about it. His grandfather shouting he did want to be put in care. Peter's mother had told him not to worry. It was just an option.

'Don't worry Poppy. When I grow up I'll find a job and make lots of money. Then I'll be able to take care of all of us.' The boy had grown restless, sitting idle in the water. 'I'm going for one last swim.'

'All right, but stay close to shore and out of that rip. You know we almost lost your father here one day when he was young? He was caught in the rip and almost drowned.'

But the boy had swum away, not listening. They did not listen, he thought, remembering the sick feeling of helplessness when the sea had swept his son away. The relief when the lifeguard had rescued him.

'I don't want my life to end in care.' The old man spoke to the sea. 'I want to be an elder not elderly.'

The sea did not listen but Peter heard and thought his grandfather was telling him to leave the water and so he came back to the beach. He did not come willingly but he came.

Together they walked back up the beach to the party.

© Derek Smith