A story I love to tell
Anyone who really knows me knows that my grandfather and I were like conjoined twins. We went everywhere together. Much to the dismay of others in my family, I was his favorite. Period. I know this may ruffle a few feathers, but that is only because it is true. Even after his death (he will be 11 years gone Jan. 13th) I still have a connection. I've always had weird connections like this. Seen weird things, had conversations with people who others claim I couldn't have, known details and secrets I shouldn't have learned...
I am not religious. Not in the slightest. I am fascinated by religon and have an undergrad major in it, but I do not subscribe to any nor do I find comfort in it. However, for some reason, I still have a connection with my deceased grandfather. As crazy as it sounds, I see him several times a year. Just to prove I am not going all Britney Spears crazy on you, I can tell you that my husband has seen him. And my husband was not in the picture until a little less than five years ago. So there.
Anyway, my point is that 'Pa' is super groovy and this is just one of the many stories I am sure to share with you that involves the two of us.
November, 1983. I remember it very clearly. My grandfather and I had to go to Kroger (grocery chain in Ohio) to pick up a few things for my grandmother's pre-Thanksgiving preparations. I think it was the day before the holiday. While we were there, I caught a glimpse of a man in a skirt and knee socks. I started laughing and gestured for my grandfather to look.
He told me that what the man was wearing was called a kilt and it was totally ok for the guy to wear it, he was Scottish. We moved in for a closer look, me trying not to break out in hysterics. No worry. I was in too much awe listening to him speak to his companion. Pa gently nudged me down the aisle and around the corner. I asked why the man was speaking funny and my grandpa had to explain that the man had an accent. Because he was from another country, he had different customs, the kilt, and a specific way of speaking. I was so in love with the way that man spoke that my grandfather let us backtrack and follow that poor Scot all around the store. So as not to seem creepy, my grandpa would make little jokes down an aisle or two like "Wow, we must have the same shopping list" or "You again?" In fact, we were the lurky-loos.
At the end of my first stint as a stalker, we had to go back and get another bucket of ice cream as it had softened too much.
Now, I have already mentioned that my grandpa and I were tight. At Christmastime, my grandparents bought little tokens for all of their grandchildren. There were a few of us who lived close and saw them more often who got a little something extra. In addition to this, my grandpa would take me out and let me pick out something special just for me. Of course, I was not supposed to tell anyone, not even grandma, and I am sure I will get a lecture the next time he visits.
That Christmas, my grandpa and I were out doing our shopping and he asked me what I would like for my special present. Immediately I knew.
"I want an accent."
Of course he asked me to repeat. Then he had to break it to me that he could not buy me an accent; rather, it was something that just came on its own, from living in different parts of the world (and sometimes even the country). He had such a good laugh he turned beet-red and had to catch his breath.
He told me that I could have an accent and all I had to do was go to another country and just be myself. My own voice would be different from the others. It was then that I decided I wanted to be a traveler.
It is my Pa's fault.
In the end, my special gift???? A fancy pencil sharpener that is a mini, cast-iron globe. It is lovely and colorful. I still have it and once the camera is charged, I am taking a picture of it and posting it.
I am not religious. Not in the slightest. I am fascinated by religon and have an undergrad major in it, but I do not subscribe to any nor do I find comfort in it. However, for some reason, I still have a connection with my deceased grandfather. As crazy as it sounds, I see him several times a year. Just to prove I am not going all Britney Spears crazy on you, I can tell you that my husband has seen him. And my husband was not in the picture until a little less than five years ago. So there.
Anyway, my point is that 'Pa' is super groovy and this is just one of the many stories I am sure to share with you that involves the two of us.
November, 1983. I remember it very clearly. My grandfather and I had to go to Kroger (grocery chain in Ohio) to pick up a few things for my grandmother's pre-Thanksgiving preparations. I think it was the day before the holiday. While we were there, I caught a glimpse of a man in a skirt and knee socks. I started laughing and gestured for my grandfather to look.
He told me that what the man was wearing was called a kilt and it was totally ok for the guy to wear it, he was Scottish. We moved in for a closer look, me trying not to break out in hysterics. No worry. I was in too much awe listening to him speak to his companion. Pa gently nudged me down the aisle and around the corner. I asked why the man was speaking funny and my grandpa had to explain that the man had an accent. Because he was from another country, he had different customs, the kilt, and a specific way of speaking. I was so in love with the way that man spoke that my grandfather let us backtrack and follow that poor Scot all around the store. So as not to seem creepy, my grandpa would make little jokes down an aisle or two like "Wow, we must have the same shopping list" or "You again?" In fact, we were the lurky-loos.
At the end of my first stint as a stalker, we had to go back and get another bucket of ice cream as it had softened too much.
Now, I have already mentioned that my grandpa and I were tight. At Christmastime, my grandparents bought little tokens for all of their grandchildren. There were a few of us who lived close and saw them more often who got a little something extra. In addition to this, my grandpa would take me out and let me pick out something special just for me. Of course, I was not supposed to tell anyone, not even grandma, and I am sure I will get a lecture the next time he visits.
That Christmas, my grandpa and I were out doing our shopping and he asked me what I would like for my special present. Immediately I knew.
"I want an accent."
Of course he asked me to repeat. Then he had to break it to me that he could not buy me an accent; rather, it was something that just came on its own, from living in different parts of the world (and sometimes even the country). He had such a good laugh he turned beet-red and had to catch his breath.
He told me that I could have an accent and all I had to do was go to another country and just be myself. My own voice would be different from the others. It was then that I decided I wanted to be a traveler.
It is my Pa's fault.
In the end, my special gift???? A fancy pencil sharpener that is a mini, cast-iron globe. It is lovely and colorful. I still have it and once the camera is charged, I am taking a picture of it and posting it.
posted by Lucy Lime @ 8:16 PM
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