Neil Napier

Fork in the Road

In our modern, media dictated, society there are often fallacies created
about who the youth of today see as a role model. The adult populace have
been led astray to believe that to us - the younger generation - celebrities,
athletes and musicians are who we consider our role models. Unfortunately, this
has been spurred on through the interviewing of people who lack a basic
understanding of the words “role model”. A role model is someone who has in
some way altered you as a person, changing the route you take in life. While it is
quite possible that a Hollywood-esque rock-star could alter your life in some way,
to say that they were the role model you see above all others is simply
implausible.

Family and friends are there throughout life, shaping paths and taking you
on an unforgettable journey, without even realising it. It is only with hindsight
that one is truly able to see the extraordinary influence that they have on you.
Of course, friends come and go but family remains by your side for as long as
one’s heart can beat. For me, my parents and grandparents were most
significant in making me the person who I am today, and as such, are those who
I consider my role models. However, as the years progress, and we learn more
of the world we live in, one begins to become aware of the flaws that these role
models have, and how we view them significantly changes. To some the flaws
we find give reason to detract from the positive views that we have of our role
models but for me I see it as a way to become closer to them and accept them
for who they really are.

Both sets of my grandparents were infallible examples of the stereotypical

grandparent image however were both at completely opposing sides of the
stereotype spectrum: totally unique and contrasting. My mother’s parents were
kindly and warm-hearted. My gran, a short plump woman, adored baking and
had the incredible talent of making friends with anyone auspicious enough to
have met her. My grandpa, a wisecracking man, with numerous wise (and
perhaps many more not so) tales of his youth – a protagonist if ever there was
one.

My other grandparents were essentially the polar opposite. My paternal

grandmother was a nervous, very shaky woman with a distaste for the young
and a short temper. My grandfather was a kind man, but again very strict. His

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knowledge was vast even with the capability to recite several page long poems
in German that he learnt at school almost seventy years ago. He was dux of his
school, and led a life of science. He rarely spoke of his youth and had rather
protestant morals, but wasn’t a particularly nervous man – rather just keeping
himself to himself. I care for both sets of my grandparents dearly and I am and
always have been very close to them. Although my overall perception of them
may have changed, the stereotypes they embody are still transfixed in my mind
when I think of them. In many ways I am thankful for the stereotypes as it allows
me to distance myself from the flaws that they have and so do not detract from
the awareness of them – and thus allow me to see them as human – but permit
me to not get so emotionally involved in noticing the changes.

My Grandfather: David Elder – a war veteran and ex member of the Alloa

Bomar Pipe Band now inhabits the lugubrious waiting room that the elderly ever
so fondly, call home. Once upon a time he was some sort of omnipotent,
omniscient being but now his vibrant mind has faded with the mists of time. The
fire in his eyes a mere ember – a memorial of what once was. To see him forget
even the simplest of tasks allowed me to see him for what he truly was: a
human. Someone who is capable of being brought down and weakened. A mere
mortal. To say that it saddens me to see him in such a state would be a
substantial understatement. Fortunately, he was always one for reciting the
same stories, over, and over, and over again and as such the repetition brought
upon him by his loss of memory is less heartbreaking than it would have been if
he hadn’t always done so.

He was also one for having minor mishaps. I recall two stories often told
in the company of my family: The time my grandfather topped up his whiskey
with gin instead of water, accidently – all night; or going to the wrong person’s
wake spending a night mourning over the loss of a stranger. Things like these
were a common event in the Elder household, so in a way his metamorphosis
was less noticeable, and so allowed for an easier transition for both us, and him.

I also became aware of secrets locked in my grandfather’s past. For one,

I learnt of him being a member of the Free Masons. This was a great shock to
me, as of course my grandpa could never be a member of a secret organisation.
For one his ability to keep secrets was subpar at the best of times; for another he
spoke of his life so much that it’s simply shocking to imagine that he would have
kept such a large piece of his past to himself.

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I also learnt that he and my gran had broken up for a year, several
decades ago, despite his protestations that he and my gran “never had a serious
fight”. I was of mixed emotions upon this finding. My grandparents always
seemed to be perfect for one another, adhering to the clichés of finishing one
another’s sentences and never needing to communicate to one another verbally
as their bond was so strong it wasn’t necessary: simply looking into each other’s
eyes was enough to answer any question proposed. As such in many ways I was
upset by the fact that they had almost never been the couple that they became.
However my grandfather had always been one to tell “white lies” and it comforts
me to know that despite his increasing disability he is still the man that I knew
and loved.

One of the most important memories of my grandpa was of him singing

hymns to me as a child, whilst I drifted to sleep (despite not being particularly
religious). This has affected me in that it is such a warm memory that it reminds
me of a time when life was simple, and such a small act could brighten a day. I
feel as though it be my duty to have this warmness with any children I may have
in the future and so carry on such a Victorian tradition. As far back as I can
recall my grandfather has meant a lot to me – to such an extent that my first
word was “grandpa”. He influenced me in my childhood, giving me an intense
patriotism and friendly nature; alas, in hindsight, I see that he is much more
flawed than I originally had seen him as.

My Gran: Ruth was a gentle soul. Quick witted and bright, she was always
one to rely on. As I did with my grandfather I became aware of her mortality,
seeing her more as a person than an all knowing deity, when she died of cancer
several years ago. She was the kind of woman that one would be led to believe
was invincible, incapable of death, and in a way she is. She meant so much to so
many people all around the world. She had made friends with Germans, Dutch,
French, Americans, Canadians, English, Irish and many more, all of whom paid
their final respects to her in a multicultural funeral. She was a woman of both
many words and many actions.

She spoilt her grandchildren dearly. Like a child feeding a dog under the
table, she let us do whatever we pleased. I loved the devotion that she had to
her children and grandchildren and to think back to her caring nature brings a
warming smile to my face. Because of our respect for her, we never put a toe
out of line, always polite and courteous, whilst still enjoying staying up passed

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our bed times, eating sweets before dinner and being given gifts for no reason,
whatsoever. These actions have made me into someone who knows the value of
showing my love to someone instead of just assuming that they will always
remember. She was a quick learner, being able to learn to handle a computer
rather skilfully, even in old age. However, it did come to my attention that she
could be rather judgemental, often talking harshly of foreigners, teenagers and
those of different beliefs, or sexualities. It saddens me that she could be so
judgmental and totally fixed upon such minor detail of a person. Prejudice is an
unforgivable and simply disgusting thing and to know that my gran – such a
warm and kind person – believed in is a heartbreaking thought. However it is
simply a shadow of what was imbedded into the elderly since a young age and
although this can’t be used as an excuse it at least allows for an understanding
of why she would have such prejudices. Perhaps, in some ways “fortunately”,
although I doubt that is ever the correct word to use, I was not able to observe
any other substantial negative aspects of her, before she passed away.

My paternal grandparents were perhaps less significant to me, as a youth.

I saw them less often, and never felt a strong connection to them. As very strict,
serious people, there were no stories of them getting into mishaps, nor did we
share any close moments – in fact, I doubt I can remember a time when I hugged
either of them. However, as a young child, I remember them fondly, especially
of them giving us books and a packet of Smarties whenever we visited.
However, as I have become more aware of them it has come to my attention
how strict they actually are. In many ways this has shed light on my father.
Although he is strict in many ways he has learnt considerably from his parents
mistakes and has significantly toned down the strictness they brought him and
his siblings (two of which have had a midlife crisis as a result of not being able to
withstand the pressure being put upon them). I was once told a story, of how my
Grannie refused to go to my mother’s first Christmas Dinner, because of reasons
beyond my mother’s powers: When my mother gave birth to my sister, there
was a power cut – only allowing one phone call from the emergency hospital
phone to tell the grandparents of the good news. My mum phoned her mother
who then passed on the message to my Grannie Napier. Apparently she did not
approve of being told of her grandchild from a third party. This arrogant
behaviour became an obvious flaw of my grandparents. This is a great pathos,
as one of course wants to maintain the positive images of their role models as
opposed to the negative ones that this behaviour has formed. Their image of

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generosity (as shown by the example of the sweets and books we received) had
also been altered. In one respect they are less so, only giving my sister twenty
pounds for her twenty-first birthday despite giving considerable amounts more to
my cousins on their birthdays. On the other hand, I have gained a great respect
for them, in that they had given my parents several thousand pounds to pay my
sister’s year admission to a school for children with disabilities, as she has
Cerebral Palsy, when she was 4. Of course, they have influenced me
considerably. In one respect I have realised their flaws and so have steered
away from making the same ones but in another I have taken on many of their
traits: a passion for science as well as a general politeness and a solemn
demeanour.

As my grandparents were, my parents too were rather stereotypical. My

father was a very intelligent, hard working man. My mother largely dealt with
looking after the children, as well as the domestic tasks. My father worked in
England, only visiting once per month – and as such, our relationship was not
one of great closeness as I was young. It’s true that the apple never falls far
from the tree: both my parents are in many ways like their parents. Like my
mother’s parents, she was a warm, gentle soul, with total intent to please her
children. My father was a rather strict, nervous man but very intelligent. As
time has passed, my relationships with my parents have altered significantly.

My father: Ron Napier was very influential for me. Although seeing little of
him whilst young, I had grown a strong attachment to him. Despite having an
attachment to him, I did see him as the “bad cop” of my parents – being rather
short tempered. This has changed as I have grown, largely due to, perhaps, an
actual change in my father. I lack the understanding of what has perhaps made
my father “loosen up”, but he has done so, quite dramatically. Instead of being
easily angered, grumpy and strict, he seems to have evolved into a much more
caring, kind person. It makes me incredibly pleased to see my father become
this person as it had allowed us to gain a closer bond. My father seems to have
inherited his father’s intelligence. He has a wide knowledge base on any subject,
and to this day I enjoy a long intellectual debate over dinner. Since I was young,
I saw him as a person who knows everything about anything... someone totally
omniscient, being able to answer any question brought to him. This of course
changed when I realised that no person can attain this stature.

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One of the most memorable moments, although to some may seem

insignificant, was the first time my father asked me for help on a computer – to
do a rather mediocre task. My father studied computers in university, knew
multiple programming languages, had a computer long before the average
person had access to one. This has shown me that, not only he doesn’t know
everything, but also that a lot of what he has learnt has become defunct as the
sands of time slowly shift. This, to a certain extent, has given me a pride within
myself. To know that I have been able to advance my father in certain aspects
has made me become aware of myself being not unlike my father: an
intellectual. This has given me a significant bond towards him and as such I am
thankful for these seemingly insignificant events.

I also was told of how my father was kicked out of university for the fact
that he refused to study, choosing the preferred student lifestyle. This has given
me a, rather irrational, respect for him: it has shown that he once had a laid
back, sociable attitude and lifestyle – making him more human, and so one to be
able to relate to. The changes I have seen in him have allowed me to re-
evaluate who he was as a person.

My mother, Tracy, has always been an obvious role model of myself. Like
her mum, she too is a kindly woman. Being the yin to my father’s yang, she was
always the “good cop”. When I was young, I saw her as, simply, someone who I
could rely on to be there for me and care for me. Fortunately, this perception
still exists. When my parents had split, I was never actually told that they had
done so. It was just assumed that they were no longer together. Although their
split did not affect me in any considerable way because I was never told of it, I
feel somewhat distanced from something that should have been a very big
change in my life. In some ways this is fortunate, not resulting in any heartache
for myself alas because of this distancing I feel like I had been kept in the dark,
being denied my right of knowledge. This changed the way that I see my
mother, to a certain extent, in that she prevented me from acknowledging
something important, and so ultimately, making a mistake. I had become aware
of my mother having flaws. To see one’s mother cry is to notice weakness in
them: the fact that they are mere humans, rather than the God that the small
child perceives.

During a celebration, my mother created a vast array of sublime dishes for

us to indulge in. After completion, she placed the goods on the table, welcoming

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us to enter the dining room. As I entered the room, an almighty gasp was heard.
A friend’s dog was upon the table, annihilating the once picturesque treasure
that my mother had worked, ever so hard, for several hours to complete. Within
a moment, my mother broke down into tears, fleeing from the crime scene. To
see my mother in such a state made me become aware of her fragility which
saddens me as I had always seen her as such a strong person. Although the
event was severely unfortunate, it allowed me to gain a greater respect for my
mother, as I became fully aware of not the mother, but the person that she was.

As we age, those who we see as our role models, whether it be

grandparents or parents, do not change. However, how we see them, does. As a
young child, the people whom we see as our role models are infallible. Of
course, this is not the case. For every purity there is a flaw; for every correction,
a mistake. What makes us human is not only our ability to make mistakes, but
also the realisation that we have made one and the desire to eradicate it. If we
are not able to learn from example, we can learn from mistakes. But ultimately,
by seeing someone’s good side or bad side in the spotlight a greater respect for
them can be formed. I love my parents and grandparents dearly, but how I see
them now differs greatly from what once was.