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Speak Up

I don't think me or my Visa will be joining you in Vancouver for the 2010 Olympic Games in February. Christmas is coming, it's already a little bit bruised up ... go on without us, won't you?

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It's Freeman's baritone voice you hear in all those ads for Visa commercials. You know ... Red from the Shawshank Redemption? Driving Miss Daisy? Heck, I recognize the voice from when he was dating Rachel Corey in that soap opera, Another World.

But I digress.

Besides, I'm saving my pennies - there's $43.37 in there, I counted it this morning - for the Summer Games in 2020, wherever they are.

I figure my grandchildren - Caylen, six, and Andon, coming up on three, will be on the Canadian gymnastics team there.

Both are out at the Kingswood Gymnastics Factory every Saturday morning, Tumble something or others, who bounce and flip and learn poise and posture and generally have a great time on the gear there.

Debbie and I got up Saturday morning to check on the progress of the prodigies and catch up to their parents, just because we hadn't seen them in a while. As it developed, Greg had to work so it was left to Leah to deliver both kids.

We arrived within seconds of one another. We were on our way into the complex when Caylen called out.

"Grampy!" she said from the parking lot. I waited for her and walked with her hand in hand into the facility as she explained about Butterscotch, the new stuffed dog she got from Toys 'R' Us for an exceptional Grade 1 report card; me recalling Licorice, the black bear we had bought Shannon when she was around the same age. I think Licorice is still in her room, in fact.

Andon, meanwhile, was right where he wanted to be, a girl on each arm - his mom to the left, his Grammy to the right. The changing area/waiting room was a zoo, kids and parents coming and going at 15-minute intervals, coaches summoning their classes. Somehow though, they make order of it all, the kids stretch and jump and bounce and balance and everybody seems to have a good time.

Caylen seems to have a particularly good time, and shows good form in the pit, getting good height. I can see her on the podium in 2020. She tries the rings and the high bar and after each turn, she catches my eye and gives me a big thumbs up.

The pit or the trampoline seems to be Andon's thing too, although he's first to walk the beam too, with his mom's help.

Andon, mind you, will tackle anything. He's all boy. All grandson.

His class ends first, and we decide to take a walk over to the Open Ice section at the far end of the complex. We bump into Carol, the lady who runs it on the way.

"This is the little guy?" she says, after we exchange pleasantries.

"Yeah ... this is my grandson, Andon," I say. "He's two."

She gets down and looks him in the eye.

"Hello there," she says. "Who's this?" she says, pointing to me.

"That's Bill!" he says.

By now, the girls are done, we've seen the ice and played on the playground stuff. Let's go to breakfast! Coffee Mill it is!

We get a table for five upstairs.

"I'll have French toast, and ham, and sausage and a pancake "¦" says Caylen, scanning the menu - and did I tell you she's reading at an advanced level?

Well, we agree that, though she worked hard at gymnastics and was probably famished, we should just order her the French toast, I'd have the Hungry Man breakfast, and she could have whatever she wanted off my plate. Debbie and Andon did the same.

And it was nice just catching up with Leah and the kids in that setting - she's busy teaching four classes in her job as program facilitator with the VON; she's started decorating for their first Christmas in their new home; parent-teacher interviews went well with Mrs. McElman; Andon doesn't miss his "soucie-" his soother - at all "¦ that kind of thing.

It was nice.

Caylen drew me a picture on the back of her placemat - signed - and school was good and no, they hadn't started practising for a Christmas concert yet.

Butterscotch, incidentally, was very good through it all.

And from the other end of the table, this: "Bill ... what do you want for Christmas, Bill?"

"How about a hug and a kiss?" I said.

"OK," Andon replied.

Debbie is apparently getting ketchup, apple juice and a pancake - our food had arrived by then and Andon decided that's what you get the Grammy who has everything, I guess. (With that, AND the Slap Chop, it's going to be a Christmas to remember for Mrs. Hunt.)

Caylen, you will be happy to know, ate most of her French toast and sausage and she and I had a "ham war-" you set a piece of ham on the plate, each put a fork in and pull.

I guess if she's going to be the next Nadia Comaneci or Shawn Johnson, we'll have to watch what she eats, but there's lots of time yet.

Meanwhile, I'll keep saving my change for our tickets to the 2020 Olympics.

I ought to have my Visa paid off by then - and Mr. Freeman, we hope to see you there.

Bill Hunt is a staff writer at The Daily Gleaner. He can be reached at hunt.bill@dailygleaner.com