grandpas are really just kids at heart.
By Ijaz
My Grandpa would probably be defined as a wrinkly, old, bag;
but that wrinkly, old, bag can tell a hell of a story. Sometimes while he
expressed his love for his treasured childhood memories, I could tell that
while I was getting lost in his stories of adventures, that he himself was
reliving his past life.
Most children like you and me hate going to their
grandparents’ house, but I rather look forward to paying Grandpa a visit. Most
nights at Grandpa’s old cottage it would be just Grandpa and me listening to
Elvis Presley’s old records like one of my personal favourites: Burning Love.
After Grandpa’s session of what he would call dancing, I’d plop myself on the
sofa and listen to the adventurous adventures of his epically epic life.
One time Grandpa had told me about his “babe”, apparently
this is what guys called their cars back then. It was a speedy, flash, red
Torino. He had many memories in that car and out.There was one particular story
of his that he shared, apparently he was once a boy racer; I know right? This
wrinkly, old, bag was once a young bad boy, whose hobby included leaving tyre
marks all over different roads. I dreamed of Grandpa speeding away in his shiny
red Torino head banging to The Jailhouse Rock. I imagined myself in that exact
scene... Yeah... That’ll never happen!
Grandpa still owned his ancient clothing, sometimes he’d
throw on a leather jacket and prance around the house to Chuck Berry, showing
everyone who’s boss. Every now and then I’d roll up the sleeves on my white
t-shirt and run a little grease through my hair, and I’d prance along right
behind him. After our shimmying session, he’d crank up the loud music and sing
(very off tune) along, and oddly I also joined along.
The last day of the 3rd term I decided to camp at Grandpa’s
for the weekend. As I walked up the long driveway to the cottage, I arrived to
find the cottage surrounded by cars and an ambulance. I dropped my backpack on
the spot and sprinted in.
That day Grandpa passed away. I made it there in time to
tell him how much I loved him. He put his weak hand on mine and whispered his
final and unforgettable words.
“Son, thank you for being my partner in crime. Be a good
boy.”
And with his last breath, he gave me his last toothless
smile.
Grandpa taught me that you’re forever young at heart. And
someday when I have grandchildren I’ll pass that very valuable lesson down to
them.
