Grandpa

This weekend I'm back in Florida, to celebrate my grandpa's 90th birthday.

Some people would take that opportunity to tell you very heartwarming stories about when their grandpa was young or when they were young and spent time as a child with their grandpa. But I'm not one of those people, and if you've been reading here for a long time, you're not surprised.

Instead, I'll just tell you three things about my grandpa:

1. If I am near my grandpa, no matter my age, when we step off the curb, he holds my hand as we walk through the parking lot.

2. When I was 18 and visiting hospitals, one of those times, my grandpa came to visit me. I had an IV in my hand, put in during the middle of the night by an incompetent nurse who'd hit an artery rather than a vein, making it very painful to clench my fist, flex or rotate my wrist, or use my right hand in any way. My grandpa stood on my right side looking down at me, and asked if I needed anything. "Actually ... my ponytail is falling out. Could you please redo it?" And he did. It wasn't pretty, but I wasn't going anywhere. Plus when a nurse's aide came by he asked her to redo his ponytail job.

I was in a lot of pain and scared, and scared on many different levels. My grandma had just died less than a year earlier, and I'd always been closer with her than with my grandpa. He didn't really know what to say to me. But he stood there and talked on and on about nothing and distracted me from my pain, from my fear. He did an imitation for me, of me as a little kid, the way I used to smile. If you know me, ask me to do it for you - it'll crack your shit up.

3. While I lived in Florida, unfortunately just as it is here, I had a hard time keeping a job, and spent a lot of time out of work. Once a week, I think it was Wednesdays, my grandpa wanted to take me out to lunch. To Wendy's. Near his house. I probably spent more money on the gas to drive out to him and go back than he did on the lunch. But he'd hold my hand as we walked through the parking lot.