Life is made up of three parts: in The First Third, you’re embarrassed by your family; in the second, you make a family of your own; and in the end, you just embarrass the family you’ve made.

The First Third by Will Kostakis.

This year’s Grandparents’ Day hit differently. I now have only one of my four grandparents still with me. I was lucky—lucky to have strong, vivid memories of each of them, and even luckier that my children got to spend time with their great-grandparents. That kind of generational overlap feels rare and sacred, like a living bridge between past and present. And somehow, all of this came rushing back when I remembered reading The First Third by Will Kostakis—a book that, like a well-wrapped souvlaki, is stuffed with heart, humour, and a generous helping of cultural chaos.

It reminded me strongly of my maternal grandmother. A force to be reckoned with. Even now, in her wheelchair, she manages to orchestrate family life like a seasoned general—issuing orders with a raised eyebrow, summoning grandchildren with a single beckoning finger, and somehow getting everyone to do her bidding without ever raising her voice. Her presence is magnetic, her will unshakable, and her love—though sometimes disguised as criticism—is the glue that holds generations together.

📖 The First Third: A Souvlaki of Feels

Will Kostakis’ The First Third is a YA gem that manages to be hilarious, heartfelt, and culturally rich without ever feeling preachy. It follows Billy Tsiolkas, a Greek-Australian teen whose grandmother hands him a “bucket list” of family fixes to complete before she dies. No pressure, right?

Billy’s voice is sharp, self-deprecating, and painfully relatable. He’s caught between being a good grandson and a confused teenager, between Greek traditions and Aussie adolescence. The book is a masterclass in balancing humor with emotional depth—like when you laugh so hard you forget you’re crying.

Why It Resonates:

• The family dynamics are loud, loving, and layered—just like mine.
• The cultural identity struggle is real: trying to be two things at once and feeling like you’re failing at both.
• The grandmother character is the emotional anchor, reminding us that love often comes wrapped in unsolicited advice and home-cooked meals.

👵 My Grandmother: The Matriarch in Motion

Reading Billy’s story brought back some very vivid memories of my own grandmother. My Nana didn’t hand me a bucket list, but she did hand me wisdom—sometimes in words, sometimes in silence, mostly in food. And she did it all with the commanding presence of someone who never needed to stand to be heard.

She’s the kind of woman who could host a feast, direct the seating arrangement, critique the seasoning, and still find time to remind you that your shirt needs ironing. Her strength isn’t just physical—it’s woven into the fabric of our family.

🌍 A Migration of Love

Unlike many who migrated in their youth, my grandmother moved overseas in her seventies. She gave up everything and everyone she knew—her home, her lifelong friends, her familiar rhythms—so she could continue supporting her children and grandchildren. It wasn’t a move for opportunity or adventure. It was a move for love.

What She Gave Up—and What She Gave Us:

• Her homeland: Leaving behind the place where she’d spent most of her life.
• Her community: Saying goodbye to friends she’d known for decades.
• Her independence: Adapting to a new country, new customs, and a new pace of life.

And yet, she never stopped giving. She offered good advice (whether you asked for it or not), gentle admonishments (often not so gentle), and an abundance of love. Her presence became the emotional compass of our family—steady, wise, and always just a little bit intimidating.

She didn’t just migrate; she transformed our home into a sanctuary of tradition, resilience, and unconditional care.

💌 A Tribute Across Pages and Generations

The First Third isn’t just a book—it’s a tribute. To grandmothers who held families together with their bare hands. To those who sacrificed comfort for connection. To the messy, beautiful process of growing up between cultures and generations.

So this Grandparents’ Day, I’m not just remembering my grandmother—I’m honouring her. Through stories, through laughter, through the parts of her that live on in me.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the final third: carrying forward the love that built us.