What he did was talk to my mother, who talked to me.
I don’t know what it’s about, honey,she said.Maybe he’s just ready to get to know you a little better.
Great. The man’s had a year and a half to get acquainted, and he chooses now to get to know me.
But I couldn’t exactly blow him off. My grandfather’s a big man with a meaty nose and greased-back salt-and-pepper hair.
He lives in house slippers and a sports coat, and I’ve never seen a whisker on him. They grow, but he shaves them off like three times a day.
It’s a real recreational activity for him. Besides his meaty nose, he’s also got big meaty hands.
I suppose you’d notice his hands regardless, but what makes you realize just how beefy they are is his wedding ring.
That thing’s never going to come off, and even though my mother says that’s how it should be, I think he ought to get it cut off.
Another few pounds and that ring’s going to amputate his finger.
When I went in to see him, those big hands of his were woven together, resting on the newspaper in his lap.
I said, “Granddad? You wanted to see me?” “Have a seat, son.”
Son? Half the time he didn’t seem to know who I was, and now suddenly I was “son”?
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