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| Thread: Werthur’s original- bitter but not sweet…. | |
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Jebus
Promising
Supreme Hero
TheJester akaJeebs akaJebfoo
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posted September 06, 2005 08:21 PM |
bonus applied. |
Edited By: Jebus on 6 Sep 2005
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Werthur’s original- bitter but not sweet….
Why would a grown adult have deep bitter resentment towards a candy? How could someone hate the makers of these sweet little melt in your mouth treats??
It’s simple but first a little background…
It’s Saturday morning and you’re in the middle of your favourite cartoon (most likely GIJOE, Transformers or HE-MAN), you're 9 years old and holding your favourite action figure mimicking the awesome adventures you’re watching on TV. Here comes the commercial break…
there sits an old man reciting the story of when he was a little boy and his grandfather use to bring him these wonderful toffee treats… well over the years the memory of those days stayed with him in his heart until one day he was able to share those special moments with his “special little guy”… you see the camera pan out and sure enough, this old man is sharing the same priceless moment with his grand child, and low and behold, they’re having a “Werthur’s original”.
Well woopdy freakin’ doo!!
I use to hate that kid. Why, because he had delicious candy treat and I didn’t?
No. But I was envious that this little punk had something that I didn’t… a grandfather.
You see both my grandfathers’ past away when my parents were really young, so there was really no chance that I’d ever meet them. So this kid, sitting on a deck sharing this wonderful moment with grand-dad use to irk me. I’m sure that along with the candy these 2 have probably shared all sorts of moments: fishing, camping, and all sorts of wonderful grandpa and grandson moments. Why does this kid have a grandfather to spend time with and I don’t. Why, is he better than me? What did he do to deserve it? Did I do something wrong?
Answer is probably not.
I think adults take for granted that kids don’s ask themselves these questions. The truth of the matter is they do. This is the case for divorce, death, seperation and so on..
I just hope that when my child grows up they’ll be a bigger person than me and won’t feel growing hate for a kid and an old man on a TV commercial.
I’m sure that even today, if I saw a kid eating a Werthur’s Original on the side of the road, I’d most likely push him over and take his bag of candy. 
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"You went over my helmet??"
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Lord_Woock
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Daddy Cool with a $90 smile
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posted September 06, 2005 10:23 PM |
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Well, this thread sure was a surprise. Nicely written and definetely glad I've read it  I know what it's like to never have known your grandfather. First time I saw my dad's dad was this year, on a photo.
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Yolk and God bless.
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My buddy's doing a webcomic and would certainly appreciate it if you checked it out!
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pandora
Honorable
Legendary Hero
The Chosen One
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posted September 06, 2005 10:35 PM |
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I never knew any family on my Father's side, including an older half-brother that I learnt of in my early twenties. My dad came to Canada when he was in his early 20's and left that entire life behind and started anew. It's always bothered me to have no real knowledge of that half of myself- but at the same time, I heard enough of my dad's experiences growing up to understand why he wanted to just close that chapter of his life.
On my mother's side, the family is blessed with insane longevity. Great-grandmom passed away at 100 years, my grandfather just passed a few weeks ago at 93. Its actually wierd in a way when I think of everyone on that side of the family, I have so many relatives in their late 90's that when a death actually does come i am completely caught off guard because I've just assumed they were going to live forever.
All of my Grandfather's years made for many years of great memories for me, and seeing your posts helps me appreciate even more what a wonderful gift family is to us  I'm sorry you guys didn't have it, but that will likely just make you guys even better Grandfathers yourselves one day.
That said, I think If I saw a kid sitting on a street corner with a bag of Wurther's , I'd probably still have to take the candy, I love those things!! 
edit* QP applied to Jebus, nice post
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"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."
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Romana
Responsible
Supreme Hero
Thx :D
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posted September 07, 2005 11:08 AM |
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I only had my mom, dad and brother. The rest of my family lives abroad but i don't feel any anger towards children that did have aunts, uncles, grandma's and grandpa's, etc. Never have. I guess it's like you can't miss something you never had. Sure i didn't have as much presents at my birthday, but I didn't care about that anyways.
What's family anyway? Sometimes you get more love from a friend or neighbour and that is just as precious.
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The darkest skies show the brightest stars
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Vlaad
Admirable
Legendary Hero
ghost of the past
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posted February 12, 2009 08:32 PM |
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Edited by Vlaad at 21:13, 02 Sep 2009.
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My grandfather was born one hundred years ago.
In 1908 there were no antibiotics, microwave ovens, computers, TVs, bras, X-rays, sound films, tanks, helicopters, parachutes, nuclear arms, band aids, sliced bread, ballpoint pens or crosswords. They had flush toilets three thousand years ago, but he never used one. Eventually he did get one, but never used it.
He was born into a family of many children, who all got their own piece of my great grandfather’s land after the Great War. All farmers. Three hundred years of plowing the dirt. At least that’s how far I can trace my ancestors, thanks to the church books, ivied tombstones and the family tree I doodled for fun when I was ten. Who knew. More like three thousand.
The house he spent his life in, this tall adobe that smelled of damp and smoke “but was on the main street”, had to be torn down last summer by his own son, my father. I cannot even imagine what it must have been like, but then again, I don’t know my father that well. “How’s the weather over there?”, he asks on the rare occasions we get to talk. My father didn’t know his father well either, the age difference being forty years.
The age difference was forty years because my grandfather was a POV in Nazi Germany. He was a corporal in the Royal Cavalry when WWII broke out. (Sounds cool, huh? I still have this souvenir he brought home, a retouched black-and-white painting of a horseman with an unsheathed saber and his face, like a crudely Photoshopped image. Actually he was in the cavalry simply because he had his own horse. ) He was taken prisoner while his unit was withdrawing south and spent four years in a labor camp.
Needless to say, although everybody bugged him over the years about it, he didn’t talk much about Germany. Sometimes I think he must have told it all, once, everything a man can say, and never spoke of it until the day he died. What little I do know is he wasn’t treated as badly as most but worked in the field instead, and later even got to spend some time on a farm as a servant. The only war tale left is this running joke about our unknown relatives in Germany, since all the men had been drafted and he was the only male person in that household for a long time. My father still roots for the opponent whenever the German national team is playing, regardless of who they are.
When the war was over and the train with former prisoners reached the Yugoslavian border, they were told the King had been banished and their country turned communist. The Allies offered them a free transport to the USA, but he refused. After all, he had a young wife waiting for him. What he didn’t know was she had died a few months earlier and never got to see the end of the war or her husband again.
He also found out the state confiscated his vineyards; embittered, he never joined the kolkhoz or the Party. Forty years later, in the first democratic elections, he voted for the Royalists. “Poor Grandpa”, I remember my parents whispering behind his back, “He still keeps the grudges, didn’t vote for the Socialists.” Ten years and three wars later, they too voted for the Royalists. But back in the blissful 1970s, when my father enrolled in the university for free, Grandpa used to tell him: “What this country took away from me - she gave it back to you.”
Soon after the war he… abducted his second wife, saving her from an arranged marriage. She ran away with him a few days before the wedding, or so I was told. Not in her white gown, mind you (nobody had those, you got married in traditional robes with gold ducats as dowry, if you had any)… but still pretty romantic, isn’t it? They lived happily ever after, for fifty years. She was my grandmother.
What did he do in the meantime? I don’t know. Half a century is a blur to me. I do know he was a passionate hunter; he would go to the fields with his friends and shoot dozens of rabbits a day. He would bring the game home and put them up on the clothesline stretching across the entire backyard. Then he or my grandmother would skin them all, blood dripping and flowing all over the place. I would probably be sick – fifty years later, I had a pet rabbit. I couldn’t even make myself burn the squashy green caterpillars. “They are pests”, he explained. I thought they looked like something made of playdough. But I loved to snatch his old green hunting hat whenever us kids played. We spent every summer in the country, but mostly absorbed in our own imaginary world, coming back home in the evening, dirty and hungry. He was always out of the picture.
He loved horses and always had a few. My uncle rode one when playing Cowboys & Indians, while my father had two in his wedding chariot. Whatever happened to those…? I was too young to remember.
My grandfather enjoyed watching football on his black-and-white TV (“one of the first in the village!”). He was quietly watching the game and stroking his short moustache while I was drawing his portrait. “Who’s that, Hitler? What did you draw him for?!” My skills have improved since somewhat, but he’s gone.
One of my last memories is us four of his grandchildren covering him all up in hay, traditionally brought home for Christmas Eve (representing Jesus’ birth). He might have already been ill by then, don’t know. He had Buerger’s disease. His black toe seemed completely unreal. When they amputated his leg, he finally stopped plowing. He was 80. He never stopped smoking and died six years later. The very last thing I recall is me pushing his wheelchair and he telling me I'd better find a girl soon if I wanted him at my wedding.
What else? I don’t know. All these random images don’t make sense to me more than to you. Like a series of pictures on one of those quaint tapestries he had... And you can realize everything just by looking at them, but only if you looked real hard. Each year I seem to forget a detail or two - so here it is all, on an unrelated website. I would have a hard time explaining my grandfather what a website is, but this is for me anyway – so I can keep coming back and rereading it.
Heh, if he’s up there and trying to read this with his black-rimmed glasses, he wouldn’t understand it anyway… didn’t know a word of English. Maybe if I wrote it in German…
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mvassilev
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted February 13, 2009 05:03 AM |
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Thankfully, all of my grandparents are still alive. I've met two of my great-grandmothers, but they have since passed away. I only have one memory of one of them, and it is of me walking around her apartment and her saying, "Watch out for the doorstep."
Now, as regards my ancestry. I am mostly descended from Slavic peasants, although I am descended from the Nogai Horde from my maternal grandfather's side. My paternal grandfather's dad was a surgeon, and he married a Jewish woman. I think he died before my dad was born. His (the great-grandfather's) father was just a shepherd. However, that great-grandmother's brother was apparently an interesting fellow. He far outlived everybody of his generation and was known as the Patriarch. He was some semi-important minister (IIRC, it was something related to metallurgy) under Stalin during the war, and it was amazing that he survived all the purges and repressions. He always had a sharp mind, and died at the age of 97 after being hit by a car while crossing the street.
My dad's mom's side of the family I don't know much about, except about her father, who was one of the most important people in his city - he was some major Party official (though not as high up as the Patriarch). But he got into trouble and forced to retire when he tried messing with the KGB. He was an unreconstructed Stalinist, and hated Khrushchev. My dad says that he was always amazed at how much vodka he (the great-grandfather) could drink.
On my mother's side, her mom's dad's dad was one of the best-educated people in his village - he could read the newspaper. His wife couldn't, but she could calculate on the abacus really well. But they were progressive individuals, and sent their son, my great-grandfather, to Moscow to go to school, after which he went to the university to become a veterinarian. Then the October Revolution broke out when he was 17, but he finished his education. Then he fought in the Red Army during the Civil War. After that, he married a nurse, and had three children: I will call them Uncle E., my grandmother, and Uncle V. Uncle E., apparently, always attracted some kind of attention to himself - and he still does, from time to time. He was 12 when the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact was signed, and, the day when he found out, when he went to school, he made some kind of angry statement to the effect of "How can our government sign a treaty with the Fascists?!" This could've gotten my great-grandparents in serious trouble, but it didn't. Anyway, shortly after Uncle V. was born, WWII broke out, and my great-grandfather was drafted. He and an officer were actually captured by the Germans, and it was very lucky that he knew German, as he understood that they were talking about executing him. So he and the officer escaped, and spent a month escaping from the encirclement. After the War, he built a dacha south of Moscow, and spent most of his remaining life there. My uncle (that is, my mom's brother) spent a lot of time with him there, but he died before my mom was born.
About my mom's dad's side of the family I know almost nothing, except that they are descended from the Nogai Horde, and probably have some Ukrainian blood as well.
My paternal grandfather is a professor of some sort at the local university. He smokes heavily, and he's really good at chess. He has a twin brother who looks nothing like him.
My paternal grandmother is an English professor at the local university. She has two younger brothers whom she helped raise during the War. One of them worked for a car company (or whatever the Soviet terminology would be), and one of them did stuff for the military.
My paternal grandparents still live with Russia, along with my uncle, who is 3 years younger than my dad. He's a lab assistant and gets paid barely anything. He moved to Israel for a while and served in the IDF, but then he moved back.
My maternal grandfather is a retired professor (he taught at one of the best universities in Russia - equivalent to MIT) and a retired engineer. Now he just occasionally does accounting work for my dad, and otherwise sits on the computer and watches the news or movies.
My maternal grandmother is a retired physics professor from the same university where my grandfather taught. She taught Physics for 40 years, then retired. Now she's working hard to learn English, but it's very hard at her age. For some reason, she and Uncle V, her younger brother, are really close, but my whole family seems to shun Uncle E, her older brother - although they're friendly to his children. Although he once cut down an old sea-buckthorn (if you're wondering what that is, in Russian it's oblepikha) tree at my grandparents' dacha and replaced it with a ping-pong table.
My maternal grandparents live in America, a block away from me.
And here I am, planning to be a professor, just like all of my grandparents (and my mom's brother). Incidentally, my parents are like the black sheep of their families - neither is a professor!
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Eccentric Opinion
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Vlaad
Admirable
Legendary Hero
ghost of the past
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posted February 15, 2009 05:28 AM |
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Edited by Vlaad at 17:07, 18 Feb 2009.
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Great stuff, Mvass. Reminds me of a book called "Moon Tiger": A history of the world. To round things off. I may as well — no more nit-picking stuff about Napoleon, Tito, the battle of Edgehill, Hernando Cortez... The whole triumphant murderous unstoppable chute — from the mud to the stars, universal and particular, your story and mine. I'm equipped, I consider; eclecticism has always been my hallmark.
So do you hear from your paternal grandparents? Been to Russia, or plan to?
*googles for Nogai Horde* Heh, cool.
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mvassilev
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted February 15, 2009 05:43 AM |
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Yeah, I talk to my paternal grandparents about once every one or two weeks. But, after I moved away at 7, I've only been back once - a year later.
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Eccentric Opinion
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kainc
Famous Hero
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posted February 15, 2009 11:02 AM |
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It surely sucks to not know your grandparents. I knew my other granpa. He had to take part at Winter War where he was injured since his friend stepped into a mine and some shrapnels hit my gramps head (he was too near). He had several surgeries where those shrapnels were removed. He passed away two years ago at the age on 91 (if I remeber correctly). I remember him beign scared what would happen to him in the afterlife since he had killed (in war). Life sucks.
Anyway, I have most deep respect for him and will always remember his awesome sense of humor; at time when my mothers aunt passed away (like 4-5 years ago) grandpa had very strong dementia and didn't even remember who my mother (his daughter) was, so he asked from my mom "who's daughter might you be?" and mom replied "well, don't you remember me? I'm your daughter". Then grandpa replied "wha? I have so many children? when did I have time to make (breed) you all?" (my mother has 2 bros and like 8 sisters).
But guys, one thing sucks much more.
I've never knew my father since he kinda "ran away" when I was born. I have never even saw him live, and we live in the same city. Well doesn't that suck? But theres more. Since I only had mother in my life, it was very close that I would have lost her too. When I was 13, doctors said she had semimalign tumor in her stomach and had to be operated immediately. I overheard a conversation where it was said that she has 50-50 changes to survive. Life sucks.
Think about it. I was 13, no father and mother nearly dying. Life sucks.
That's when I first prayed God. Her stomach (the organ where food goes  ) was removed and they made new one from a part her small intestine. She recovered perfectly and no metastasis of the tumor was found later. For that I'm happy. And I found an awesome girlfriend like 3,5 years ago and we have lived together 2 years now. Right now shes playing PS2 at the couch next to me, and smiled nicely when a turned my head and watched her. Such a sweetheart.
Life doesn't suck that much afterall
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xerox
Promising
Undefeatable Hero
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posted February 15, 2009 08:15 PM |
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That candy is delicious.
HOW DARE YOU CRITIZE IT!!!???
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Over himself, over his own
body and
mind, the individual is
sovereign.
- John Stuart Mill
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kipshasz
Undefeatable Hero
Elvin's Darkside
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posted February 17, 2009 09:39 PM |
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Xerox, shut up. Its not about the candy.
Its about something one person had and other didn't. In this case grandparents. Heh, my grandparents are the best(probably everyone think the same abuot yours). One of my grandmothers died when i was around 11... Quite sad period in both mine and my bro's life(he was only 5 years old then). The grandmother's death was followed by a lot of fighting between my mom and uncle which was followed by my parents' divorce. Later my mom brought some loser who was a total drunkard and liked to beat my bro. Till he packed his stuff and ran away to me. See how one death can screw up a life? During this my bro never expierienced a true father&son relantionship. And during one court session when he was asked with who he wants to live, he chose me. Me. I had to go through hell to become his guardian. And i don't regret it. It was worth it.
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"Kip is the Gavin McInnes of HC" - Salamandre
"Ashan to the Trashcan", "I got PTSD from H7. " - LizardWarrior
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Thanatos_
Bad-mannered
Hired Hero
HC Terror, badass Member
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posted February 17, 2009 10:10 PM |
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This is the lamest thread i ever read
@Jebus:it's childisch to hate a kid because it has a grandpa
come'on guys you could make better threads
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xerox
Promising
Undefeatable Hero
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posted February 18, 2009 03:00 PM |
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Edited by xerox at 15:01, 18 Feb 2009.
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Its called sarcasm -.-
In xeroxian language "" means that you are sarcastic or ironic (but not always)
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Over himself, over his own
body and
mind, the individual is
sovereign.
- John Stuart Mill
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kipshasz
Undefeatable Hero
Elvin's Darkside
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posted February 18, 2009 07:09 PM |
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I don't speak spoiled brat language. This is the OSM, this is not a place for jokes.
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"Kip is the Gavin McInnes of HC" - Salamandre
"Ashan to the Trashcan", "I got PTSD from H7. " - LizardWarrior
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Adrius
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Stand and fight!
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posted February 23, 2009 07:56 PM |
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Jeez... Thanatos... 
I for one found this thread quite enjoyable.
In fact, I think I spent a little too much time inside my head as a kid  I asked myself a lot of things, usually about the universe and stuff.
I haven't had any real family problems, like divorce or stuff, but people have died.
I really can't remember my granddad that much, I remember playing doctor with him while he was sick though.
It's really sad that my brother didn't get to know him because in many ways they're like mirror-images of each other.
Quote:
this is not a place for jokes.
Well... as long as you mix your jokes up with a good dose of seriousness you're good to go imo.
Though I'm probably one of the bigger OSM noobs around here...
Quote:
I don't speak spoiled brat language.
Kinda harsh... but I laughed... hard
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kipshasz
Undefeatable Hero
Elvin's Darkside
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posted February 23, 2009 10:01 PM |
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I can be quite harsh sometimes... Though i can't be serious and funny at the same time. Just not my style.
I really don't understand people who are fighting with their brothers/sisters. You have the same blood running through your veins don't you? Then why the hell you need to fight? Me and my bro aren't at each others throats. How many stories about brothers who tried to kill eachother for _______(add something here)?
Couldn't you learn to share? Of course its quite hard when the age difference is 10-15 or more years. One of my ex classmates ran away from home just because her parents showed all their attention to her baby brother. Quite lame isn't it? A child is no toy. Most of the parents in my country think that a child has reached his(her) teenhood means that (s)he doesn't need any attention. Maybe thats the main reason there are so many teenage criminals 
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"Kip is the Gavin McInnes of HC" - Salamandre
"Ashan to the Trashcan", "I got PTSD from H7. " - LizardWarrior
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Adrius
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Stand and fight!
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posted February 23, 2009 10:38 PM |
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Me and my brother fight quite a lot, but the difference between our fights and others is that just a few hours later, we're pals again.
It's an eternal cycle
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xerox
Promising
Undefeatable Hero
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posted February 23, 2009 10:53 PM |
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My little sister totures me but since im now 100,000% elitist extreme buddhist that is starving to death I cant do anything
Okey now to the serious part.
My little sister is 5 years old. And yes, we try to piss each other off all the time but its quite fun
And then I tell her like this: "If you dont let me taste some of those tasty Werturs Orginal then I wont buy a birthday present or birthday cake for you and you will be affected by the plague!".
It always works.
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Over himself, over his own
body and
mind, the individual is
sovereign.
- John Stuart Mill
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