When we were in Paris last week Rupert and I met a nice couple of child psychologists who told us that our children are made up of 50% us and 50% our parents. We were amazed by this fact, having always thought that our children were a product of us alone.
This weekend my father came to stay and confirmed this fact. “Helena,” he told Rupert, “is just like her grandfather. Always irritated and causes bedlam wherever she goes.”
Last time I saw him, my father told me how one day my grandfather came home to find my father, my aunt, my grandmother and a local farmer’s wife who was delivering some Ricotta cheese in the kitchen. Without saying a word he turned the light out and started beating them all with his walking stick.
“But Mr. Benedetti,” pleaded the farmer’s wife. “I haven’t done anything. I just came with the ricotta.” My father hid under the table but still got bashed a few times. After about three minutes my grandfather left, without turning the light back on.
As I don’t have a walking stick I have tried other methods of getting my own way. Yesterday I left my clothes and shoes by the pool all day. Around five o’clock I said to Rupert: “I am leaving my clothes and shoes by the pool in the hope that someone will come and pick them up for me and put the clothes in the wash and put the shoes away in my cupboard.”
“Why on earth would anyone want to do that?” he asked.
“Exactly,” I said.
As I write my shoes and clothes are still by the pool, now soaking wet due to a storm last night.
“I don’t think your plan worked very well,” said Rupert this morning.
It could be time to buy a walking stick.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007