We have five grand children, at this writing. All of them glorious in their own way. Our third Freddy is three and a beautiful, robust, boisterous young boy he is. We all boast on our grandchildren of course, in fact I think it’s in the Grandparents Guide that is required reading at sixty. Now having said that I am free to boast on Freddy.

Freddy is uniquely gifted with words. He has an accelerated vocabulary and a real energy for talking. Couple that with an extraordinary imagination and I find myself fascinated by him. Storytelling with Freddy is as often as not Grandpa and Grandma Mac being told a story, not the other way round. When I was a young boy I was told by a friend of my parents in the most earnest ‘look you in the eyes’ way …

“Tony don’t ever lose your Joie de Vivre.”

I dutifully nodded and promised I wouldn’t, not having the foggiest idea of what she meant not the least of which because I didn’t know a lick of French. Whatever this ‘Joie de Vivre’ of which she spoke was, she seemed to think it was important. I’m 73 now and Life has taken a few rounds out of me, all of it well deserved but here I am still bobbing along in the Sea of Blessings and still somehow through it all connected to my ‘Joie de Vivre’. She was right, it is very important.

I get it now, albeit a wee bit later than I would have wished but I do know how to track down a laugh and squeeze it for all it’s worth, doing what I can to spread some humour and lightness of spirit among those within my reach. Some might call me tedious or any number of names quite frankly but that’s on them, not me. And every once in a while I get reminded by others just how important joy is in our lives.

Freddy just reminded us.

Recently, we were taking care of Freddy at our summer place in Deep Bay, north of Nanaimo. It’s beautiful. Not so much our trailer and cabana as where it is, right on the ocean. It is Life in a Postcard. Freddy’s energy was relentless and intoxicating for our spirit. Not for our knees and hips mind you, those were still aching but certainly for our spirit. He helped us see Deep Bay again, in a way we had long since forgotten.

“This is a Sea Tree Grandpa. Gramma Mac this is a Mummy Jellyfish and her baby.”

He had just woken up on the first morning and had spent nearly half an hour naming and story telling about our glass paper weight collection on the ledge above his bed. It was so simple and fun and welcomed us into Freddy’s World of Wonder, which as it turns out is where Joie de Vivre resides. In all of us. It’s just that somewhere along the way we stop visiting that space. I know I’m being naive. Life can be tough and it is not easy. Each one of us reading this story can attest to just that. So it requires intention. If our joy, if our spirit is to thrive, even survive we need to be intentional about it. Freddy is very intentional about his relationship with Joie de Vivre.

Later that morning Freddy was eating breakfast at the table on our patio overlooking Deep Bay. It was glorious. I sat beside him doing typical Grampa stuff.

“Hey Freddy, let me show you how to use your fork. It’ll be easier to pick up your food.”

Freddy was good enough to put up with me. I can’t help myself. A fixation on all things related to table manners comes with anyone born of English parents. Don’t ask me why. It just is.

“Let’s tell stories, Grampa.“

Nothing could make Storyteller Grampa happier than to hear my three year old grandson ask for a story.

“Sure I said, have I ever told you the story of how the SS Alpha sank off Chrome Island in 1900?”

We were looking out at Chrome Island which sits at the entrance to Baynes Sound on the east coast of Vancouver Island. It was a famous and tragic story. Who wouldn’t want to hear about that, I confidently thought to myself.

Freddy wouldn’t, was the answer.

“No, no, no, no Grampa. It’s my story. Do you want to hear my story?”

Did I, he could have no idea who thrilled I was to hear him say that.

“Oh for sure. Where is the story?”

Now every story writer knows the basics of setting, character, plot, climax and resolution. I simply wanted to know where Freddy’s story was set but he was clearly confused by my question. He had a look in his eyes which upon reflection I’ve come to recognize was something like …

“Hey Grampa, I’m three! What are you talking about, what do you mean where is the story?”

I thought he hadn’t understood me (which of course was correct) but chose to deal with that by repeating exactly the same question, expecting perhaps a different answer.

“Where’s the story Freddy?” I said with a gentle prodding tone.

Pregnant pause. Freddy looked at me with a steady gaze and broke the impasse.

“In my mouth Grampa.”

It was the perfect answer, simple and uncomplicated and in its own way absolutely correct. I laughed out loud.

“Of course it is Freddy. So tell me your story.”

And off we went on a wild imaginative ride, full of characters and animals and monsters and adventure and climax and resolution. Freddy created a complete story without every having been taught how to put one together. And he was joyful and spirited and physical and exuberant. Good Lord it was wonderful to be with him. It was Freddy and his good friend Joie de Vivre just loving life.

If we’re lucky we all have a ‘Freddy’ in our lives. They come in all sizes and shapes and they have a job to do. Let them do it.

Sometime in the next few years I’ll tell Freddy never to lose his ‘joie de vivre’. Perhaps sooner if he goes into French immersion.

My story about the wreck of the SS Alpha on Chrome Island in 1900 will have to wait. What’s one more year?