My grandson recently celebrated his tenth birthday—a milestone double-digit occasion. I’d carefully selected a gift I believed would be perfect for such a moment: a large box containing the model train set he’d been longing for. On the big day, I dressed in my finest blouse and made my way to their house. As I pressed the doorbell, quick footsteps echoed inside.
“Come through to the kitchen, Mum,” my daughter said, swinging the door open. Her voice was warm but laced with exhaustion, as if she’d spent the entire day preparing. “You do remember our birthday boy’s name, don’t you?”
I smiled, stepping inside. Of course I remembered—my grandson was called Oliver. But instead of answering, I simply nodded, clutching the brightly wrapped present. The kitchen was alive with festivity: colourful plates, cartoon-themed napkins, and a grand cake crowned with ten flickering candles. Oliver sat at the head of the table, glowing with excitement, while his friends—bubbly ten-year-olds just like him—chattered loudly, talking over one another.
“Nana, is that you?” Oliver exclaimed, spotting me. He dashed over, wrapped his arms around me, then fixated on the box in my hands. “Is this for me?”
“Of course it is, love,” I replied, passing it to him. “Go on, open it—don’t keep us waiting!”
His eyes lit up as he tore into the wrapping, revealing the train set. The other children swarmed around, peering at the box and eagerly suggesting layouts they could build. Watching the chaos, I felt my heart swell. Nothing compares to a child’s joy, especially on their special day.
My daughter—Emily, as I silently called her—drew close and whispered, “Thanks, Mum. You always know just what he’d love.”
I shrugged, as if it were nothing. But the truth was, I’d agonised over the choice. Ten isn’t just another birthday—it’s the brink of something bigger, where childhood begins to fade. I wanted the gift to be more than a toy; I wanted it to be a memory.
The party carried on—games, laughter, then the ceremonial blowing out of candles. Oliver took a deep breath and extinguished all ten in one go. The room erupted into cheers as Emily began slicing the cake, handing out generous portions. From the sidelines, I watched the lively commotion, struck by how swiftly time passed. It felt like yesterday Oliver was a toddler, and now here he was, full of dreams and opinions.
Once the cake was eaten and the children scattered to play, Emily settled beside me. We reminisced about how life changes, how fast children grow. She shared that Oliver had recently taken an interest in robotics, even joining a club to build machines. I listened, pleased my gift had aligned so well.
“You know, Mum,” Emily said softly, “he’s been counting down to this day. Your being here means more to him than any present.”
I smiled, though inwardly I thought it was I who should be grateful—for these moments, for the privilege of being a grandmother. The weight of parenthood lifts, but the joy of spoiling and loving remains.
As evening fell and guests trickled away, Oliver rushed to me, proudly clutching a freshly assembled locomotive from his new set. He animatedly described his plans to build an entire railway network. I listened, marvelling at his imagination, certain this birthday would linger in our memories for years.
Leaving their home, I carried a quiet happiness. Ten is just the beginning. There’s so much ahead for Oliver—endless discoveries—and I hope to witness every step. For now, I’m simply glad to have sprinkled a little magic on his special day.
