Our eldest grandchild turns 18 soon, the youngest will be four. Every now and then Tom and I have a conversation around what might the grandchildren remember of us in years to come? Slightly morbid in some ways, but it urges us to reminisce about our grandparents.

I hardly remember Grandpa (Mum’s Dad) at all. In my baby book, with observations recorded by Mum, it says he was very ill when I was four. I have a recollection of Grandpa and Grandma’s bedroom – not to be entered as a four-year old. I seem to remember a certain chair in the TV room was Grandpa’s. Even now I only have one or two actual photos of him, and I’d have to check with my older sisters to see if there is a photo together with him. Even with little memory of him, there was this letter tucked away in the pages of the baby book.

Grandad (Dad’s Dad) passed away when I was six years old. I have fond memories of sitting on Grandad’s lap after the evening meal, out under the veranda, looking at the garden playing “I Spy” games – in retrospect it was probably just to get me out of the way in the kitchen with the dishes and cleaning up! Until fairly recently I still had the horse with a broken leg; the last gift I recall from Grandad.

I have more memories of Grandma (Mum’s Mum), as she passed away when I was thirteen. Whenever we “came to town” (Adelaide), we would stay at Grandma’s. As a very young child, I remember the toys in plastic containers beneath the sideboard cabinet in the dining room, stored there in readiness for visiting grandchildren. I seem to remember always playing with certain toys such as blocks and Lego-style bricks and avoiding other containers for some reason. I never liked the toys in the 2^nd to last container on the left. I don’t remember why. I remember watching Family Feud in the TV room, and the piano was there too. Grandma taught me how to play Crib.

It’s strange how memories go. For some reason I thought Nana (Dad’s Mum) sent me a postcard of flamingos. As I was recently looking through scrapbooks of childhood mementos, I came across the postcard.

It turns out it was actually from Grandma, on her trip to the USA in 1973. I still have a sentimental soft spot for flamingos, regardless of whether the postcard was from Nana or Grandma.

I remember Nana most of all, as we lived together as an extended family. Dad and a household full of females! Fond memories of playing the card game Conquian, and as I grew older, Euchre. Nana being talented at sewing, crochet, and embroidery, passing on a little of her skills to me. Gardening. Making jam and honey biscuits. Typical country farm life. Although I was nineteen when Nana passed away it is still sad that I really only knew a snippet about her.

It’s interesting that I have a very clear perception of my grandparents’ values, beliefs, attitudes, and expectations. What I don’t have is an understanding of what might have been their hopes and dreams. I know their activities and community involvement, but what did they think and feel? What were their own memories as young people? We rarely talked about feelings. Was that the generation gap, or just the stoic German heritage of our family in particular?

Four, six, thirteen, nineteen. At the different ages you would think I would remember more and more. But truth be told it is still fairly patchy. Photographs help to remind you of occasions, although there were fewer of them then. Family reminiscing provides colour to shared stories. Most of the memories are of shared times. Sitting together. Playing together. Learning together.

With digital photos from phones now so ubiquitous, maybe this will help sustain some memories into the future for the next generation. It makes me think: when we collect the grandchildren from school next week, we might just have to play one more computer Fish-Eat-Fish game together. Kick the footy/soccer ball. Sit on the couch together to watch another episode of Bluey. Have another visit to the pretend supermarket or sushi restaurant. Make a cake. Build a cardboard cubby house.

Build some memories, hopefully for them, as much as for us.