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.