As a child…
…I had some crazy foolish prides (I know I should not have made it plural by adding the S but the poet in my ear insisted upon it). Anyway, one was on the odd occasion I went for a spell without telling a casual lie, the other was that I had a full set of grandparents.
My child logic, which is almost an oxymoron, held that as much as I could hold myself responsible for being a truth-telling, law-abiding citizen on days with a W in them, so I could be equally chest-puffing about having four whole grandparents.
I wonder now, as I have been reduced to none as of Saturday night, whether I should feel culpable of the carelessness that I suddenly do?
I might be 46 years old but this weekend has been a forceful reminder that foolish childish pride is in there somewhere, not entirely forgotten, forcing itself centre stage, as the adult voice wearily remarks, ‘This, like most things, is not about you.’