The smile and laugh of my maternal grandfather could melt your heart. He was a larger-than-life character who filled the room with his energy. When Granddad was on form, there wasn’t a better person to be around.

He was the undisputed leader of the ‘Burnside Buccaneers.’ After a Sunday roast and a few jars, the family gathered around the piano in the lounge (only used on special occasions) of my Grandparents’ House and sang. They called themselves the Burnside Buccaneers. In those days, every chair had an ashtray, and beer only came in half-gallon flagons. I was a little kid and didn’t know the songs, but I felt the warmth and sense of fun that filled those afternoons. They were happy times, well, at least through the eyes of a 5-year-old kid.

But that memory seems skinny as if it should carry more weight. It seems distant, and yet it was profound. So, it got me thinking about why our minds associate emotions with our memories and what mechanism makes a memory seem stronger?

I have always been interested in the obtuse. Always had a wacky sense of humour. As I have grown, I have become an observer. I love observing the idiosyncratic. Perhaps this has affected how I file memories.

One of the idiosyncrasies of my paternal grandfather was to suddenly burst out with the expression, ‘Smack ’em in and crack ’em over.‘

There was no rhyme nor reason as to when this diamond of phraseology would be forthcoming; it would be spouted randomly and at the most inopportune times.

It was neither a mutter nor a shout; it trod the audible territory somewhere in between. I used to cringe.

Whether it was being served in a cafe, at a shop, whether it was dropping off a load of garden waste at the dump, Pop’s ability to crystallise the moment with a Tourette-like interjection astounding all and sundry – excluding my Grand Mother, who was well used to and ignored his harmless rantings.

I remember him purchasing some plants at a nursery. It went something like this:

“Sir, this plant loves shade and sun and loves a little lime during spring. Cut them right back as we go into winter.”

My grandfather nodded, smiled, and uttered the words I knew he would but feared all the same.

“Yep, crack ’em in and smack ’em over.”

There was a time he hired a trailer from old Claude Fitzgibbon.

“You know how to fasten the safety chain, Bill?” Claude asked.

I lowered my head and scurried out of the petrol station, “Yep, crack ’em and smack ’em over,” ringing in my ears as I left.

Embarrassing!

Why am I writing this?

I have started to wonder whether any of my idiosyncrasies will be remembered long after I am gone. I hope they are. Pop has been gone for 35 years, and I still remember his. I am always tempted to drop in an occasional ‘crack ’em in and smack ’em over’ into the conversation.

I don’t, though. You see, I have my own idiosyncrasies, and I watch on in amusement when I see my daughter wince when I pull them out. Maybe I will be remembered long after I am gone.


The past has been calling me lately, perhaps because I am turning 60 this year. Maybe because I have finally worked out who I am and how I got to be where I am (deep indeed). I have also just started reading ‘Big Fish,’ by Daniel Wallace.

I have seen the movie a few times and loved it, especially the character Edward Bloom and Albert Finney who plays him. My daughter says she sees a lot of me in Edward Bloom. That’s not such a bad thing. I know I am full of shit (in a storytelling sense), but I hope I am way more present than he was

It has gotten me thinking about men’s role in forming and developing young people. Rightly so, women are seen as ‘lead practitioners‘ in this role, but I genuinely think men do not give enough thought and time to the role they play or can play in mentoring and parenting.

Come on, guys – step up and  – yep, crack ’em in and smack ’em over!