My memoirs is besig om nader te beweeg aan die tweede deel nl my laerskool tydperk. Ek het vandag heerlik terug gedink aan my oupa wat by ons kom kuier het. Ek was toe so nege en n half jaar oud. Oupa het vir ons kom kuier vanuit Holland.
n Oupa Storie
Oupa S. het vir ons kom kuier net kort na ons Erasmia toe getrek het. Hy was redelik kort van draad gewees. Ek was maar skrikkerig vir hom omdat hy en Pappa nogal gereeld argumente gehad het. Tog het ek hom geniet. Hy het meestal in die middae op n spesifieke stoel gesit en n rukkie gedut. As hy weer wakker was kon ek op sy skoot kom sit. Hy het dan meestal die mooiste stories vertel. Dit was n hele ritueel om te besluit watter storie hy sou vertel. Hy het altyd n swart baret, skeef oor sy eenkant van sy kop getrek, gedra.
Sodra ek op sy skoot sit haal hy die baret af:“Kom, soek nou eers vir ons n storie uit!” en gee die baret vir my.
Ek sit dit oor my gesig en kyk.
“Watter een Ineke? Sien jy iets wat die moeite werd is?” Hy vat die baret en hou dit voor sy gesig.
“A, wat dink jy van daardie ene aan die linkerkant? Dit klink vir my of dit n avontuur is!” Hy gee die baret terug aan my om weer te kyk.
Ek kyk. “Oupa ek sien hom. Ooo, dit gaan n mooi verhaaltjie wees. Kyk gou weer!”
So het ons dan n storie uit sy hoed gehaal.
As mens die baret so voor jou gesig hou sien mens klein gaatjies waar die lig deurkom. Dit, was al die stories gewees en daar was baie.
Elke middag na skool en nadat Oupa sy uiltjie geknip het, het ons twee eers n heerlike storie uurtjie gehad.
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My Grandpa
My memoirs are moving closer to the second part, called my primary school period. Today I remembered my grandfather who came to visit us. I was nine and a half years old. Grandpa came to visit us from Holland.
A Grandpa Story
Grandpa S. visited us shortly after we moved to Erasmia. He was pretty short of thread. I was scared of him at times because he and dad often had arguments. Yet, I enjoyed his company. He usually sat in a certain chair for a while in the afternoons having a nap. If he woke up, I could sit on his lap. He then would tell the most wonderful stories. It was a whole ritual to decide what story he would tell. He always wore a black beret, crooked over his one side of his head.
As soon as I sat on his lap, he removed the beret: “Come, have a look if you can find our story!” And gave me the beret.
I put it over my face and looked.
“Which one Ineke? Do you see something worthwhile? ” He took the beret back and held it in front of his face.
“Ah, what do you think of that one on the left? It sounds like it’s an adventure story! ” He gave the beret back to me to look again.
I looked. “Grandpa I see it. Oh, it’s going to be a good one. Have a look again! ”
That was how we took a story out of his hat each time.
If you keep the beret in front of your face, you see tiny pinpoint holes through which the light shines. Those dots were all the stories, and believe me, there were many.
Every afternoon, after school, and after Oupa had his nap, we both had a wonderful story hour.
I scrap 2 