The anniversary of my grandfather’s passing, as well as my latest brush with mortality floods my memory with a tidal wave of escapism. Amidst the flood come, one branch to reach for, and that is what my grandfather called ‘Operation.’
When I was a very small boy, my grandfather invented a game that he called “Operation.” He would seat me carefully on his firm and ample lap, lying still across him, and then slowly move his arms and hands gently over the area that needed ‘surgery.’
He would bellow out to imaginary nurses for a scalpel, or a clamp; ominous and serious sounding words that meant nothing to me at the time. All I knew was of the motions that each word was followed by; the pinch of the scalpel, the inactivity of the clamp, and finally, the tickle met by each of the stitches.
At times, despite his careful gentleness, when he proclaimed the magic sounding words, “Operation” I was at once excited and fearful. I was always firmly and truly entrenched, and under the ‘anesthesia’ the rule was that I was not allowed to move, struggle as I might want to. Still even though I could not at that moment scramble free, there was great comfort in being held tenderly and close by his strong arms. Of course, every ‘Operation’ came to an end, at which time quite swiftly and somehow always unexpectedly, came the remarkable feeling of being freed from this strength, a moment when he would shout out “Recovery Room’ and I would tumble from his lap and off his knees, laughing as he placed me tenderly upon the floor, until once again I gladly returned, a willing patient awaiting surgery.
I also have all too many memories of a real hospital as a boy. It was there that much the same game was played, though at a different level, and I must add, carried out quite seriously. There the feeling is anything but tender, strapped to beds of bright chrome and steel; unwieldy monsters that are cold and hard; and possessing you of feelings of dread, and none of joy.
I remember awaiting doctors back then, thinking how safe I had always felt in my Grandpa’s arms. It was a rough stretch of my ample imagination even back then, but if I worked hard enough I could fantasize that that hospital bed was protecting me with strong, but loving and tender care. And that I would be laughing once again when I reached the recovery room.
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Very good. If I could make a clapping applause sound come out of your speakers right now I would. But I can’t. I love stories that come full circle. The second sentance is a little hard read,though. It seems a little different than the straight forward style of the rest of the narrative.
A good read that relives memories with grandfather. Makes the hospital a real place in the mind. A very interesting read. Not the typical essay. This is not something that most people write about. Strong setting that hold s its own.
This piece is touching, as long as it’s interpreted correctly. It might just be because I’ve been reading a lot of Palahniuk, but initially I thought this was going in the direction of sexual molestation. A few key descriptive passages could clear up that ambiguity in no time. Good work.
Invokes a lot of differing emotions for a piece so short – managing to be both mildly disturbing and comforting in equal measures. Odd – but in a good way.
I was not happy with the feeling i got from this piece.. yes you did put your fondest memories if your grandfatehr but it seemed very revealing on an almost doctor patient level I am impresed with your memories of your operation or fake operations your grandfatehr shared with you but it visually bothered me. good writing technique.. you brought out emotion in the reader.. and any emotion you can get out of us is good and talent.
I like this especially the part about your grandfather and the game. I would like to know as a reader why you felt so safe there in his arms. What that brought up in you and then a comparison to the real thing in the actual hospital. You leave us hanging at this point. Your reader does not understand the whys of the real hospital nor the why of the fact that they are all to often. This reader would be very interested in that. I also would like to understand more about what your grandfather meant to you as a child and then an adult. How he influenced your outcome. What influence he had on whatever illness it was that you had. And then in the end how his passing affected you and your life.
I think you have a very good start here but I would love to see more work put into it and see it really come to life. But that is just this readers opinion and maybe I am nosey.
Even though this could be a very beautiful and touchy piece I considered it quite cold and the reason is that I think that you try very hard to use “expensive” words making the text lose its meaning in a few occasions (example: mortality floods my memory with a tidal wave of escapism.), I wont copy paste the other examples but I think that if you read the text out loud you will realize that sometimes the words don’t float and don’t create the emotion that this subject could definitely create.
I think that if you work on it you will certainly make it perfect.
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