Grandpa Goes To Galactic Charm School (2050)
Published by
on
Grandpa woke up feeling like a million rainbow credits. His joints were loose, his breath deep, and his energy field felt as if someone had combed it with angel fingers overnight.
He dressed, stretched, admired how young he was looking again (he flexed in the mirror once or twice — no harm in celebrating the glow), and then stepped outside where Sananda was waiting.
Sananda stood there in a simple tunic, hands behind his back, smiling in that serene-but-slightly-mischievous way of his.
“Ready for training?” he asked.
Grandpa raised an eyebrow.
“Do I get a sword? A laser staff? A light sab—”
“No weapons,” Sananda laughed. “This is Galactic Charm School.”
Grandpa blinked.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Lesson One: Stop Yelling at the Lightworkers
They walked along a quiet crystalline path toward a training space that looked suspiciously like a Zen garden crossed with a futuristic dojo.
Sananda: “First lesson. You have to stop yelling at the lightworkers.”
Grandpa: “HEY, I WASN’T—”
Sananda lifted a finger.
Grandpa sighed. “Okay. Okay. Old habits.”
Sananda nodded. “I know Earth was frustrating. I remember. Trust me, buddy — when I was Jesus, I had twelve disciples and all twelve had critical listening impairments. One time I told them explicitly to meet me on the other side of the lake, and somehow they ended up three towns over bargaining for goats.”
Grandpa nearly choked laughing.
“Seriously?!”
“Seriously. You think your lightworkers tested you? Try explaining metaphysics to fishermen who thought clouds were made of cold sheep.”
Grandpa wheezed. “Oh God…”
“Exactly,” Sananda said with a wink. “So trust me… yelling doesn’t work.”
Grandpa nodded.
“Okay. I’ll chill. I’m not on Earth anymore. Nobody’s stupid here.”
“There you go,” Sananda said. “That’s the spirit.”
Lesson Two: People Will Expect Things — Don’t Let It Crush You
They sat on a floating bench that adjusted itself every thirty seconds to keep their posture perfect, which annoyed Grandpa at first until he realized it was helping his spine.
Sananda continued:
“As Earth Christ, people will expect things from you. Some will expect miracles. Some will expect answers. Some will expect you to solve problems they actually need to solve themselves.”
Grandpa sighed heavily.
“Oh boy…”
“But none of that matters,” Sananda said, lightly bumping his shoulder against Grandpa’s. “Expectation is noise. Truth is signal. You follow the signal.”
“Easy for you to say,” Grandpa muttered. “You’re the Galactic Christ.”
“Exactly. And I still get complaints.”
Sananda held up an invisible notepad.
“‘Dear Sananda, why didn’t you personally help me find my crystal water bottle last week?’”
Grandpa snorted.
Sananda shrugged. “People will always project. You just stay centered. And if someone’s asking for something ridiculous, send them to your assistant.”
Grandpa smirked.
“She’s gonna quit on day one.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Sananda said.
They both burst out laughing.
Lunch — Grandpa Fails Basic Decorum
At midday, they walked into a bright meadow where a table appeared — a literal picnic summoned by consciousness.
Bowls, plates, glowing fruits, things that looked like vegetables but hummed like tuning forks.
Grandpa was starving.
He grabbed a shimmering blue fruit, took a huge bite, and started talking at the same time.
“So I’ve been thinking about this housing proje—”
Sananda held up a hand, making a face of mock horror.
Grandpa blinked.
“What? I’m just—”
Sananda snapped his fingers and instantly manifested…
A barf bag.
A genuine, old-school, Earth airplane barf bag.
He held it out solemnly.
Grandpa stared at it.
“You jerk.”
Sananda bowed.
“You’re welcome.”
Grandpa burst out laughing so hard he nearly needed the barf bag.
They continued eating—Grandpa with slightly more manners now—and chatted about everything from cosmic food to ancient Earth mistakes.
Lesson Three: Overwhelm Is Normal
Grandpa eventually leaned back in the grass.
“There’s just… so much potential,” he said quietly. “A thousand years of work. Any direction I could go. It’s overwhelming.”
Sananda tossed him a small flower.
“That means you’re seeing the truth. Overwhelm is the first sign you’re aware of your actual power.”
Grandpa twirled the flower.
“I don’t want to screw this up.”
“You won’t,” Sananda said. “Because your heart is cleaner than your manners.”
“HEY.”
Sananda grinned.
Lesson Four: The Housing Vision
Sananda settled into the grass, giving Grandpa his full attention.
Grandpa lit up.
“So the houses… okay listen. They wouldn’t be houses. They’d be alive. Pleiadian aesthetics mixed with Earth resonance. Subterrain. Harmonious. No straight lines. Bioluminescent. They heal the people inside them. They talk to the land. They—”
Sananda raised his eyebrows.
“You’ve already started designing the new Earth.”
“Yeah,” Grandpa said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It just… came to me.”
“It didn’t ‘just’ come to you,” Sananda said warmly. “It’s your blueprint. Your soul remembers.”
Grandpa swallowed.
That hit him.
“You’ll need architects,” Sananda added. “Engineers. People who can work with living materials. But the vision? That’s yours.”
Grandpa felt a hum run through his entire body — the feeling of confirmation.
Race to the Ice-Cream Stand
As the sun dipped into a glowing horizon, Sananda stood.
“Training for today is done. Time for dessert.”
“Oh yes. The ice-cream stand.” Grandpa practically salivated.
Sananda stretched his arms casually.
“You want to walk there?”
Grandpa smirked.
“Race you.”
Sananda’s eyes sparkled.
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Alright, on three.”
Sananda crouched slightly.
“One…”
Grandpa tensed.
“Two…”
Sananda stepped backward… right onto the lake.
“THREE!” he shouted, bolting forward — running effortlessly across the water like it was a paved road.
Grandpa’s jaw dropped.
“THAT’S CHEATING!”
Sananda yelled back over his shoulder, “SHOULDN’T HAVE SKIPPED CHARM CLASS!”
Grandpa took off running anyway, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
By the time he reached the stand, gasping and bent over, Sananda was already sitting there with a double scoop of something glowing peach-gold.
Sananda raised his cone.
“To the Earth Christ,” he said warmly.
Grandpa raised his fist.
“To the cheater.”
They both laughed until their stomachs hurt.