I feel like my grandfather only said about 53 words
directly to me the whole time I knew him, but I always knew for certain that he
loved me so much. One perfect
winter/Christmas memory of him is from when I was about 7 years old, and
visiting my grandparents, who lived nearby.
Typically, when I visited my grandparents, I, being an only child, would
happily occupy myself on their property in the country in Lake George, New
York. I was a suburban kid, so their
“spread” seemed exciting and endless to me, and I could always find fun ways to
pass the days.
This memory had me crashing down their sloping yard on a toboggan. I kind of remember that the hill in their
yard was huge, but I also know that it wasn’t.
Anyway, I remember sliding recklessly fast down the tremendous hill (actually,
slowly, and the hill wasn’t tremendous by any calculation) over and over and
over, and the horrendous trudging climb back up the hill each time (really
neither horrendous nor trudging, I was 7).
After what seemed like thousands of trips up and down the
hill (really, probably 5 trips) I landed at the bottom, and my grandfather
pulled into the driveway in his big green truck. I was always glad to see grandpa, but I had no
idea why he was home; I was always lost in time in the country. He smiled as he walked over to me and said, “ready?”. When I
was 7, I never EVER knew what people meant when they said, “ready?” or pretty much
when anyone especially grownups asked me anything.
So, I said, “yup”. With that, grandpa grabbed the thick rope on
the toboggan and started to run, pulling me down the driveway and onto Middle
Road, the country lane that bordered his property. For a surreal few seconds, gramps trotted
ahead of me on the toboggan as I clung-on in utter disbelief. In my mind, at the time, my grandfather was
ancient, and I was amazed that he could run at all, and I was a little concerned
that he would drop dead in front of me, although that concern was conflicted by
an intense desire to see how far he could take me. Any concern
I had for grandpa confirms what a stupid kid I was; a conclusion to which my
readers have probably long since arrived.
In reality, he was then probably only in his early 60s, not far beyond
my age now, and he probably felt (and was) virile as ever (as I do and am).
Anyway, at last, pooped or maybe just hungry for lunch,
grandpa pulled me back up into the driveway and walked into the house, without
saying another word. I sat on the toboggan
in the driveway, stupefied in the silence of the country, and smiling widely. I wasn’t sure that the hell had just happened,
but I sure knew where I stood with gramps.
