I jumped up and down on my bed a lot when I was a kid. It’s strange the things that stick in your memory, isn’t it?
I would jump for ages, usually until one of my exasperated parents told me to stop. Well, I say told – mostly they would throw open the door, grab me by the back of the neck and toss me out into the backyard to burn off my energy until the sun went down.
I spent a lot of time in that backyard, running around and fighting invisible pirates and ghosts and goblins. All in all, not the worst childhood.
That is until I accidentally trampled some of my nan’s bulbs on one particularly daring adventure. In my defence, the fearsome Captain Barbarossa had me pinned up against the side of the house – the only way out was through the garden!
My nan was devastated, said that there was no way she could make it to the hardware store to pick out new bulbs – they’d all be gone, this time of year, she said. I asked her why she didn’t know where to buy flower seeds online and my dad clipped me on the back of the ear.
‘Be kind to the boy,’ my nan had said, with a sad smile. ‘He doesn’t mean any harm.’
‘Could have fooled me!’ my dad grumbled. ‘Have you apologised to your grandmother yet, Kevin?’
‘Sorry,’ I’d whispered, meekly.
She’d just smiled softly and got up from her chair, knees protesting, to come sit next to me on the sofa.
‘Have I ever told you about growing roses?’ she asked me. I shook my head, slightly confused. ‘What about… when’s the best time to plant hippeastrum bulbs in Australia?’
I shook my head again.
‘Well there,’ she laughed. ‘How can you be expected to respect something you don’t understand!’
She reached out a wrinkled hand, wrapping it softly around mine, and we both rose from the couch and slowly walked to the back door.
‘Let me teach you,’ she whispered, patting me on the back.
That memory always comes back when I’m sitting in the garden bed, tending to my hippeastrums.