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I’m reading Lord of the Rings at the moment. This is my first time reading the books, though I first saw the films as a preteen and became immediately obsessed with them. That was before the Marvel movies began dominating both my taste and the global film industry’s. The hobbits are fun to laugh about; their hairy feet was a highlight for me. The elves and dwarves live in fascinating societies. The story’s villains are brilliant. The books are chock-full of characters well worth obsessing over. My favourite, by a wide margin, has always been Gandalf (whether grey or white). Gandalf reassures me. Throughout the story, Gandalf seems as though he knows more than any other character does. This is often made plain, various characters mention how much more ‘learned’ he is compared to his hobbit, dwarven or even elven friends. He is a wizard, after all. There is a duality to Gandalf’s knowing, though. It is clear that he is wise within the borders of Middle Earth, but I also get the sense that Gandalf has some idea of where the story itself is going. As far as I know, he doesn’t break the fourth wall—that is, speak directly to the audience. Even so, it feels like he knows which chapter to appear in. In the movies, Gandalf has a glint in his eye that suggests he can be trusted. That same glint tells me that he has some hidden knowledge he is withholding. Almost like a child with a secret, there is a sly smile hidden in his eyes. I find this particular quality quite difficult to describe.
Except that it is shared by another man: Albus Dumbledore.1 Both wizards have the same, occasionally reassuring, occasionally infuriating quality. It is a kind of knowing. Not quite omnipotence, but some awareness of things to come. As with Gandalf, Dumbledore has a comforting sense about him. Especially in the first books, it seems as though precious little escapes the oversight of Dumbledore. Whether actions are taken in secret or were taken many years ago, none seem to escape these wizards.
My grandpa has the same twinke in his eye. This is him at my granny’s birthday dinner. We were chatting in the low-lit restaurant when I took this photo. It’s hard to explain exactly why, but he feels like magic. Maybe it’s his sneaky smile. His eyebrows, too, suggest that something is afoot—like we are playing a game. But his eyes. His eyes are ablaze with the very same life, the same knowing, the same good humour, that those other wizards embody.
When I was a kid I would visit my grandparents on the weekends. They lived very close to the beach, and I remember that we would often visit it on Saturdays. When we walked on the sand, we inevitably encountered all kinds of garbage: flip-flops, plastic bottles. My grandpa would pick up a piece of litter and tell me a story about it. Over months, he wove together a tale of a mermaid, who lost her treasures only for them to be washed up on our beach. One week I insisted on bringing the flip-flops from my grandpa’s story home with us, so as to keep the mermaid’s treasure safe. I wonder how many ’treasures’ I brought home from that beach.
I have fantastic memories with all of my grandparents, certainly. My admiration for my grandpa doesn’t devalue those relationships in the slightest. Grandpa has always been fun. He and I did the crossword together; we played lots of swingball, badminton, tennis. All of my grandparents were fun to play with. As I grew up, though, I started to look up to my grandpa. I valued his knowledge: he taught me long division, how money works, how to look after my shoes, how to smuggle a dozen biscuits in one hand (he is very rogueish in this particular field). As I transitioned from boy to man, I respected his wisdom. How to invest my money wisely, how I might tackle my career choice. Since our time spent together has graduated from ball games and cartoons, I have tried very carefully to pay attention to the advice he gives me. When I got my car he told me never to let the fuel tank get below a quarter. In the five years I had my car, the needle sank below the last quarter only once.
I am so spoilt to have my grandpa. He is an endless fount of wisdom, love and quick wit. He is, to me, just as magical as his literary counterparts—and far more beloved. With you Grandpa, I have always felt safe. The spark in your eyes assures me, in the troubling times in my life, that everything will be okay. This picture continues to encourage me, years after I took it and thousands of kilometres away from the restaurant we sat in. I am honoured and proud to be a part of your legacy. You have given me more hugs, compliments, encouragement, hope, courage, self-reliance, confidence, and wisdom than I ever could have asked for. I love you.
The ice creams and cookies were numerous, too, but well within expectation. If you enjoyed this journal, please send it to someone you love.
a powerful wizard from the world of Harry Potter, for those who aren’t aware.