When I hear friends complain about having to visit their nearby relatives, I can remember myself saying the same thing not so long ago. When I was younger, every Sunday our family took a drive to visit my grandmother. I always dreaded that drive-being in the car too long made me nauseous. My grandfather had passed away not too long before we started making those regular visits. I used to think grandma just liked to talk a lot. Maybe she was a little lonely without grandpa being there to talk with her. One day, I realized my conversations with grandma were actually lessons about life-ones that I would learn to live by.
The drive to grandma's house usually took about forty-five minutes. I remember everyone piling in my car: dad would always drive and my mom would climb in up front after strapping my sister into her car seat next to me. After counting the numerous road signs and staring at the seemingly endless fields of corn, we would arrive at grandma's house. Every visit to grandma's was the same. When we got there, grandma would greet us at the car and give me a kiss after squeezing my cheeks. She would then do the same to my little sister who usually squealed with delight because someone was paying attention to her. Then, after all the greeting was done, the family would go inside and have lunch. After lunch, I was always required to sit with my mother while she and grandma talked. A lot of the time I listened half-heartedly. Mom was really good about paying attention. Me, on the other hand, I was not so attentive and mom would give me this look when she caught me dazing off. After spending a couple hours at grandma's house, the visit would come to an end and we would all pile back into the car to drive home.
Sper ca te-am ajutat! Succes!
