Life on board a sailing yacht and in the harbours offers many a bizarre encounter. Author Steffi von Wolff regularly recounts her experiences as a crew member in her column "Wolffs Revier". Not always meant seriously, often satirically exaggerated, but always with a lot of heart and a wink. This time it's about grandchildren.
You have to take a deep breath in order not to be considered an eccentric oddball if you don't shout out enthusiastically when you hear the sound of the neighbouring boat:
Yay! Our grandchildren are coming on the boat this weekend!
Just a moment ago everything was quiet, yes, and you want to enjoy the peace and quiet on this beautiful Friday evening - most of the charter crews have moored, people are cooking and toasting with gin and tonic, the weekend is just around the corner, and these early evening hours with this very special light are actually the most beautiful of the whole day.
So you're sitting there, breathing in and out, and then, suddenly, the nice neighbours from opposite come onto the boat. An elderly couple, quiet, peaceful, helpful, not intrusive. Simply marvellous.
But then the sentence falls:
Finn, Lisa, come here, you have to put on your life jackets first.
And while you look up in alarm and enjoy the peace and quiet on the jetty for a nanosecond, two small, eight-year-old raptors trample over the wooden planks, not at all anxious not to make any noise, no, they screech, try to push each other into the water and shout incomprehensible sentences in which the words mean, nasty, idiot and idiot are used several times.
Then the nice granny exuberantly says: "There you are." Grandad trots along behind the raptors, dragging - of course - the bags.
You can already see your quiet weekend blowing away in the wind. But it doesn't matter, of course, because they are children, and children are allowed to do anything, anywhere. Children are allowed to scream, bully, stamp their feet, shout for scolding, throw themselves on the floor and so on - and as an adult, no matter where, you have to put up with it all, regard it as God-given, because they're children after all.
For me: I don't want that.
But I won't say anything. You're labelled a criminal if you criticise children.
Of course, a loud discussion about the life jackets starts, although it has been clearly stated at home that there is no need for life jackets.none at all discussion will take place.
Then Granny gets her way and the two of them grumble as they put on their waistcoats, only to screech and ask where they can net crabs.
Grandma says: "At the end of jetty C", and you're already happy that you've finally got rid of the brood because, damn it, you have nothing to do with these grandchildren and just want to be left alone. But you're wrong, because of course crab netting is completely stupid from one second to the next, for whatever reason, and the children want to play UNO and draw and be pulled into the mast (not the worst idea), and all of this is demanded at the same time and at the volume of a fish seller who is selling his leftover goods with his last ounce of strength at the weekly market just before closing time.
Grandma calls over:
Our grandchildren are here!
Oh, really.
You nod and smile painedly, and then Grandma leaves the motorised sailboat and climbs down onto the jetty, comes closer and says without being asked: "Finn and Lisa are here for a whole weekend for the first time, we've been looking forward to them the whole time, they're such lovely children, so inquisitive and so interested and so creative." Granddad smiles painedly from the boat.
"Mhm."
The creative children colour in the wooden planks with street chalk, then they have to pee, then they want fish fingers with chips and so on and so forth. Of course, there's no chance of rest around 10 pm because the interested grandchildren want to play Candy Crush, of course at full volume, then watch "Bibi and Tina", of course at full volume, then something even louder on YouTube, it's about something to do with formaldehyde and knives. A serious voice says: "After the Ypsilon incision, the organs are exposed and weighed individually. Later, the scalp is pulled over the skull." Of course, it's all "completely boring".
The grandparents have now fallen asleep from exhaustion with the UNO cards in their hands and look like mummified stroke patients who have succumbed to secondary death, and the cute little ones throw the cards into the harbour basin, draw faces on the grandparents' faces with ballpoint pens and sharpie pens and then shout: "Grandpa's nose is now a snake", then they cry because the cards are floating around in the harbour basin and no longer come up by themselves. You almost hope they'll go into the water ... no, that's bad.
Oh. Aren't they cute.
I want to bite on wood. Yes, I'm a philistine. I love my peace and quiet.
After the grandparents have been shaken awake and the offspring have finally been put to bed, peace returns for a few hours. Peace and quiet that comes to an abrupt end at half past five the next morning. The little raptors are jumping around on the jetty in their pyjamas and trying out the water hose. I want to drive them through the harbour with a whip, or even better: into the water!
Who is bad now? Me or the troublemakers?
I always ask myself: Are you a bad person if you find other children annoying when you have grown up and don't have any grandchildren yet? Don't you have the right to find screaming, inconsiderate children stupid? Don't we have the right to prefer peace and quiet? And why are grandma and grandpa always so kind? Why is it that grandparents don't think anything their grandchildren do is bad, but everything is so ... understandable?
Will I be the same when I have grandchildren? Is it simply in the grandparents' genes, is it set up that way by nature?
I just know that I want my peace and quiet. And I'm secretly thinking about another berth, but who says it will be any better there? Because a crew of men could turn up at the drop of a hat.
We'll get to that next Saturday.
Have a nice weekend!
