My grandfather often tried to discuss heavy topics with me because he thought I was a smarty. I don't know if his persistence is a testament to his disinterest in reality or my acting abilities, but he kept trying to engage me in conversations about, oh, the latest HIGHLARIOUS happenings on Hardball. He also saved newspaper clippings for me related to my work that I would inevitably receive weeks after they were cut out and, usually, after I had read them online.
My favorite grandpa moment was also the most baffling. While living in the Waldwick house, he pulled me aside and told me he had a plan to restructure the U.S. government. He pulled out a chart to illustrate his grand redesign. This quickly became my go-to anecdote when discussing my grandfather.
I will always remember his unique handwriting, his penchant for hard pretzels dipped in margarine and, somewhat surprisingly, his acceptance of me.
When I left for California (the first time), he cornered me outside, where we had a pretty awkward but thankfully brief conversation. Here I was, leaving college a year early and moving 3,000 miles away to be closer to my boyfriend. And all my 70-something grandfather wanted me to say was: good for me for doing what I thought I needed to do.
Sure, he was difficult, especially when it came to his relationships with his five children. But he was, at the end of the day, a good man. And that's just about the best a man can hope to be.
1 comment:
i'm sorry to read this, especially so soon after your grandmother. my thoughts are with you and especially your mom.
Post a Comment