by Gabe

Created on: January 06, 2010

I didn't REALLY know my grandfather. I only knew the one on my father's side and I wasn't very close to him at all. I only remember him being locked in his room all day long, doing whatever it was he did in there and occasionally coming out to ask me to turn down the TV so low that even with no noises in the quiet queens neighborhood I would have to sit right up in front of the screen to hear anything. No I didn't know my grandfather very well, and he didn't know me. That was the way it had to be.

One thing I remember about my grandfather is that he had harmonicas. Old ones. Nice ones. The big kind that two or three kids of my size could blow at once. I think they're called chromatic, but what do I know. Anyway I remember one time he let me play with his harmonicas under his careful supervision of course. That seemed to make him happy to be sharing something, anything with a grandson of his.

Another thing I remember was a time, one of the only times he took his anger out on me. Back then I would love to drink from the nozzle of one of those sport drink bottles, so after I finished the bright green sugary drink inside I would fill the bottle up with my favorite beverage, chocolate milk maybe and gladly squirt it in mouth mouth and click the nozzle back into place. One day he yelled and me, "What are you? A baby?! Are you gonna be sucking at your grandmas tits next?!" Needless to say i was shocked and horrified to be put down and disparaged at such a young age. I don't think I ever really got over that all the way, that need to appear and feel grown up, like I wasn't just a baby, wanting to suck at my mamas tit.

Another thing I remember was grandpa's shepherd's pie. It was one of the most delicious things I've ever had in my life. Half ground beef and half mashed potatoes...a simple dish that shepherd's pie. He served it to me happily, with that same smile that he gave me when we played his harmonicas and I loved it. I'm still hopelessly addicted to potatoes to this day because of that.

The last memory I have of my grandfather is seeing him dying of whatever kind of cancer it was in the hospital. This was in my early teens. This was my first death. It was unreal to see him lying there, looking pale and thin, looking stretched out like some kind of caricature of himself. I remember what he told me to this day, almost a decade later.

"Grandpa's DYING." he said with that same happy smile.

"No, don't say that." I said, cause that what you say when someone is in the hospitals dying. Surely he must be here to get better, after all...

"It's true. Grandpa's gonna die." He said, sounding like he was glad of it, about to go on some big trip or something. I just cried and hugged him like i was supposed to. I didn't get it.

Looking back on it today as I write this article I think I do get it. Life's a gas. It's full of pain and suffering and happiness and pie and harmonicas and milk and yelling and laughing and then you die. Hopefully I'll die laughing too, just like my grandpa.

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