Baylor Rich

Prof. Duckwitz

ENGL 1010

20 Feb 2020

What Grandpa told me

Grandpa wasn’t always a grandpa, surprisingly. As I have grown older, the painting of

grandpas life was slowly pieced together stroke by stroke, story by story, slowly creating a

masterpiece that I had no idea existed. He lived a wonderful life, and you didn’t have to be of his

own blood to know that. You would know through his stories. They were his way of spreading

wisdom, love and happiness. These stories told over years of experience have created a deep

appreciation for living a care-free life.

“One boring Saturday night an unfortunately familiar face showed up to pick up my sister

Judy for a date. He smelt like bad intentions and was dressed like he was from another planet.

So I answered the door with my hands down my shorts and out the bottom, and yawped at him

with a lisp all night. Unfortunately, they kept dating. “

That’s what Grandpa told me.

He was a troublemaker, especially when he was younger. Constantly, he was scolded

because he needed to “grow up” and “learn”. But he learned something from a young age that

most people didn’t. He knew how to be happy. Truly, 100 % happy all by himself without others,

yet others were always involved because he couldn’t keep the happiness to himself. His

happiness wasn’t happiness if it was only for him. He had so much kindness to give and share
with everyone that he got the nickname “buddy” from his first born grandson, and it stuck with

him till the day he passed away.

I don’t think he ever did grow up. Yes he did grow old, but never grew up. He had a

childlike sense to him, which he kept throughout his whole life.

“We used to put a grocery bag in the middle of the street, and made it look like it had

fallen out of a car. When worried strangers pulled over, we would yell like a bird, “Yack, yack

sucker!” because we filled the bag with dead grass. We used to throw things at cars all the time,

and even busted some windows. Mostly apples, cherries, prunes, all trees we had in our yard.

We stripped those trees bare throwing the fruit at cars.”

That’s what Grandpa told me. He was a troublemaker, but he was happy.

Grandpa always had something on his mind, a past experience, that he always shared

freely without reservation. To me, these were pearls. Pearls of wisdom whether they were big or

small, his stories always had an unseen treasure hidden in them. They had a sense of making you

forget. Not in a bad way but in a way as to make you forget the big problems in your life that

may seem big in the moment but in reality are smaller than you make them out to be. That was

the treasure, the pearl.

“I used to sweat off my summers working for my dad at his floral shop. One scorching

afternoon some football players from our rival school came cruising by and yelled at me for no

particular reason than to provoke me. Well they did, and without hesitation I jumped to my feet

and threw my rusty shovel like a javelin straight through their windshield. The sound of the

shattered glass sounded criminal and wrong, but to me it sounded like a victory. No one was hurt

physically, but psychologically they were scared straight. They never messed with me again.”
 That’s what grandpa told me. And that was a pearl.

His greatest stories were his fight stories. He was a fighter, especially when he was younger.

“One time a dude came to pick up my sister for a date. Instead of coming to the door, he

sat outside in his convertible and laid on the horn for more than two minutes. The horn was so

loud it sparked my fuse and I ran outside and walked up to his side of the car and punched him in

the face so hard it broke my hand.”

That’s what grandpa told me.

I was an eyewitness to his scrappy attitude. I remember so clearly an october night, about

a year before he passed away. My family and I had gone to a Softball game to support my cousin

and his team. The moon was so bright that night that they could have turned off the field lights,

and there would have been no difference. The smell of fall was crisp and cold. There was

nothing greater than those nights. I lived for October Softball. We had brought Grandpa Buddy

with us to support. He was so supportive of his grandchildren. After the game we loaded into the

car and began to exit the parking lot. As we were pulling away we noticed the softball players

start contention with the other team off the field. We watched as the sturdy middle aged players

started to throw their fists at each other harder than they threw softballs just 10 minutes earlier,

with my cousin in the middle of it all. A fight had broken out, and we had front row seats. These

were a regular thing to witness. It seems like grandpas fighting attitude was passed down to all

his children and grandchildren. Amidst all the conflict, grandpa was in the front seat trying to

join.

“Let me out right now” He said to my mother as he tried to unfasten his seatbelt.

“What for?” questioned mom.

“I’m going to beat those clowns that's what for.”

“Dad you’re 75 years old you can’t even unfasten your seatbelt by yourself. What are you going

to do, wheel yourself over there and hit them with your cane?”

That was when I saw the most clear representation of my grandfather in all my years of

living, all put into one moment. His fighting side, to protect and guard his children with every

last breath of his life, even if he knew he would lose. His loving side, clearly shown in his will to

stand up for the right. And of course, his childlike sense of humor, knowing that he would have

never gotten close to winning a battle like that, and , also knowing that my mother would have

never let him take a step away from that car, he tried anyways. The furthest he got was

unbuckling himself.

So what could grandpa do? He could tell and create stories. It was his way of expressing

appreciation for living carefree and happy, and generously giving that knowledge to everyone he

loved.