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March 23, 2010

Being close to my grandpa

When I was younger, after my grandmother died, I spent more time with my grandpa. He had arthritis pretty bad and his knuckles had all swollen and he had a hard time opening bottles, cans, and even picking up things. I remember helping my grandpa cook malt-o-meal for meals. He loved that stuff. I did too.
I just hung out with my grandpa. It was natural and fun. We played a lot of rummy and gin. He was pretty good too. I don't think I ever beat him at gin. Sometimes I'd get lucky with rummy. And sometimes I helped him type things on his typewriter. I'm not sure why he typed these little index cards but it was important work for a little guy like me.
And there was one special moment in my life, that I have never really talked about until now. It illustrates how much my grandpa loved me and how wise he really was. There was once I attempted to run away from home with a friend. I packed up a few things, but not too much since I had no idea what I was doing. I was supposed to meet my friend outside his house just after dark. I showed up and my friend could not believe it. Hanging out in the back of his house in the edge of the woods, my friend and I talked about and realized that we were too young to run away, and we'd better call it off.
So here it was getting pretty late and I was pretty far away from home. The best solution I could think of was to go to my grandpa's house, which was on the way home. I knocked on the door and my grandpa let me in. He asked me what I was doing there, and I stammered something stupid. "I just wanted to come and visit you grandpa." He did not press the issue. In fact he did not ask me another question about what I was doing out there at that time of night. He just took me in and gave me some hot cocoa, which I ended up making on the stove with milk and chocolate powder.
Eventually he let it out that my parents were looking for me and were worried. He suggested I call to let them know that I was there and ok. So, for this kind way of handling things, I am thankful to my grandpa. My parents came to get me and somehow everything worked out fine, and I'm sure that for whatever reason I ran away, it wasn't nearly as traumatic as I had built it up to be. Now I cannot even remember why I ran away, but I learned a deeper understanding of my grandpa's love for me.

Posted by carl1236 at March 23, 2010 11:14 PM | Journal in a Jar