Always Kind

Any memory I have of Grandpa T, bottom line is, he was always good and kind to me. He seemed to enjoy hanging out with me. I don't know much about him. I remember Grandma telling me that he too was adopted, have no clue why. Most of his "family" wasn't really around, or didn't talk to him. I don't know if him being quite the drinker had anything to do with that. He was a fairly quiet man. He would whistle around the house, and when he sang he had a beautiful baritone voice. I remember him singing to me sometimes and I would get chills. I was amazed at the sound that came from his mouth.
As far back as I can remember he was always a little challenged in the hair area... case-in-point... the above picture of the both of us. (I look a little challenged in the hair area as well... teeheehee!) I remember another story that Grandma told me years later... I guess I was sitting at the kitchen table with him one afternoon. Grandma had just made us all some lunch. He suddenly lifted his hand to his head as if to brush his hair from his face. I cracked up laughing. "Grandpa, what are you doing? (I was around 5) You don't have any hair!" (Clearly decorum wasn't yet learned, and yes, I am STILL working on it.) He flipped his head back as if to snap his imaginery long hair back into place and looked at me, a half smirk on his face. "Maybe... but I can pretend, can't I? And besides, I used to have lots of hair and it was long." I remember staring at his "lack of" and just couldn't imagine him with hair, let alone LONG hair. I just shook my head. Grandma said that at that moment when Grandpa saw that I just wasn't buying it, he got up and went to a place that he had some of his stuff. He came back to the table and put an old black and white photo in front of me. I had never seen this one before. It was of a bunch of guys all lined up. I looked intently at all their faces.... I couldn't see Grandpa anywhere. He reached across the table and pointed to a guy with , yep, sure enough, long blonde hair. It was apparently a football team that he was on and there he was, all big shouldered, with long hair.... couldn't believe it. I am sure in that little brain of mine I was thinking, "How in the world did that happen? Where did all that hair go?"
One memory is very vivid and I doubt that I will ever forget it, and probably for the mere fact that now, in my "advanced years" I look back at it and want to throw up. At the time it was hilarious because Grandma was appalled... to say the least.
I had been outside playing and came in to see what was up. That was the deal back then. Play your heart out, but check in once in awhile. Anyway, I walked in to see Grandpa getting out the Waverly Wafer crackers and a small tin of something I had never seen before. He had me sit at the kitchen table. He sat down in his usual chair. We had small plates, our package of crackers, and this strange and intriguing tin. There was this little strange thing on the side that he said was a "key" and it helped open this tin. He placed this "key" in a little tab and started twisting and twisting. When he opened this thing, there were little, tiny, itty-bitty fish in there. All lined up. Grandpa stuck his fingers in there and pulled out one of those fish, placed it on his cracker and ATE IT!!!!!!!!! I really wasn't too sure about this whole thing, but he assured me that it was good. I thought, ok, I'll try it. I stuck my fingers in the tin with all those tiny fish and grabbed one of the slimy little things, carefully placed it on my cracker, Grandpa encouraging me along the way. I took a big bite and.... hey, it wasn't all that bad! I was really surprised.
Grandpa and I were working our way through the tiny fish that I had since learned were called sardines, when Grandma walked in. She had been outside. She stopped dead in her tracks and raised her voice....... "TOM!!!!!!!! What are you feeding her?!!!!" I am sure that we both stopped chewing right then and there. I looked at Grandpa and he knew he was in trouble. Grandma came over to the table and she looked angry and horrified at the same time. I looked up at her and said, "They're good." Grandma took one look at me and shuddered. She was disgusted... that was certain. I have NOT eaten sardines and crackers since that time. I think it was just a whim, fluke or perhaps even a lapse in sanity. Knowing me, even then, I would bet on the lapse in sanity.
I learned early on that there were many things that Grandpa did that irritated the hell out of Grandma. She was always yelling at him for one thing or another. But he took it all in stride, at least it seemed like it. He was a mild mannered man. I don't recall EVER seeing him angry. Not even when he was sloppy drunk, which you could count on like clockwork every Saturday night. (That went for both Grandparents. Grandma was quite the drinker and I guess you could even go as far as to say, Dad learned from the best.)
He loved motorcycles too and he had a huge Harley. Somewhere I know that there is a picture of me on it. (Fred.... you seen that one?) As Grandpa got older and seemed to drink more, it was apparent that the big motorcycle wasn't such a good idea.
The last day that he rode his big Harley I remember very clearly.( I was in grade school, exact age unknown, and why I was there, I don't know, other than it was the weekend and most weekends I spent at Grandma's.
He had taken off early in the afternoon, telling Grandma he was going for a spin. Grandma told him to be careful. When the afternoon drug on Grandma was getting more and more antsy. She had a sneaking hunch she knew where he was. He liked to hang out up in Hillyard and area where he used to work when he made dentures, there was a nasty old place up there that he liked to go to called "The Chinese Kitchen." That is where he would booze it up. I don't know if he went there because it was the closest place that sold hard liquor since he wasn't a beer drinker, or if it was just because it was just his old stomping grounds.
Grandma was really worried, it was dinner time and Grandpa still wasn't home. She was about to call Dad when the neighbor lady (Lucille) called to say that Grandpa was laying in the street by her house, he had dumped the motorcycle. At that time the street west of Grandma wasn't paved yet and apparently Grandpa, having a hard time handling that big motorcycle when he was sober, let alone when he was drunk, had tried to turn into the alley and had slid and dumped the bike, and he was sorta stuck under that big heavy thing. Grandma was in a panic, she told me to stay where I was and ran to Grandpa. I remember feeling knots in my stomach (this wasn't the first time and it wasn't going to be the last in my life.) as I waited there. Walking from the back door to the front door, wondering what was going on, was Grandpa alright.
Suddenly Grandma burst through the door and rushed to the phone. She called Dad. No one could get the motorcycle off of Grandpa, they were afraid of hurting him even further, he was apparently already bleeding from a head wound.
Once Dad arrived, Grandma stayed at the house with me. We waited and waited. Finally, while holding up Grandpa and helping him walk, here came Dad. He was pissed as hell, it was evident.
I could see the blood streaming from a place on Grandpa's head, down the side of his face, down to his shirt. There was quite a lot.He had also torn his pants and was bleeding from one of his legs pretty badly. Grandma instantly yelled at me to go into the living room. I guess I wasn't supposed to see that. Well, shit, it was too late. I could hear them shuffling around in the kitchen, trying to get Grandpa to sit in his chair at the table. Grandma cleaned him up and was cussing him up one side and down the other. Dad was telling him that he wasn't to ride that motorcycle anymore. Within a day Dad had come up and taken the motorcycle and no one ever saw it again. Grandma didn't talk to Grandpa for quite some time.
Grandpa had a knack for making some pretty awesome omelettes and some terrifying ones as well. One morning Grandma and I were still asleep. Grandpa always was up early. They had twin beds upstairs and Grandma slept in one bed and I in the other, Grandpa slept downstairs.
On this particular morning we were laying there and suddenly there was this horrid smell coming from downstairs. Grandma mumbled something about what was he cooking now? She threw her bathrobe on and flew down the stairs, I could hear her yelling about whatever it was that he was cooking .... throw it out and get that terrible smell out of her kitchen. I wandered down stairs to see Grandpa shuffling around to throw stuff away and Grandma FUMING. She was right though, it smelled terrible. And it was no wonder. He decided that sardines would be good in an omelette. He would make an omelette out of everything. He even tried some of Grandma's chili once. Crazy old fart.
As he got older, his health got pretty bad. A heavy drinker and heavy smoker... it all eventually broke him down. He had trouble walking and shuffled his feet alot, and it annoyed Grandma to no end! He slowly but surely was losing his ability to do a lot of things and Grandma berated him at ever turn.
One morning I woke up (at home) to get ready for school. I walked downstairs and saw Mom and Grandma sitting at the kitchen table. Grandma looked a little upset, but no one said anything to me. I was going to wash my hair in the kitchen sink. I had taken a long bath the night before and taking a shower the next morning was a no-no if I had done that. I turned the water on and heard Dad's voice behind me. I turned the water off and turned around. "By the way, your Grandfather died last night." Then he left the room. That was it. Mom just sat there and Grandma just sat there. No one said a word to me. I turned and went up to my room and stayed there for the longest time. Crying. I was in High School when he passed away. And I had felt sorry for the old guy for a long, long time. I really didn't know him well. As he aged, so did I, so by the time I was in High School, he was pretty old and not doing well at all. Sometimes I wonder if he even knew who I was. Grandma obviously didn't like his aging and was always saying 'don't slouch, pick up your feet, Tom, sit up. Tom, wipe your nose.'
In his later years, he may've been a broken down old man that drink and cigarettes had destroyed a whole hell of a lot of him, but I DO know that he was also a very talented man that at one time had a stellar reputation in town of being the best Denturist. Even after he retired and did some work out of the house, a lot of people that used to go to the clinic that he worked for (Pattretti--- not sure of the spelling), ended up coming to see Grandpa instead because of his talent and compassion. I used to hang out with him in that cold basement and watch him work. He was maticulous. He took great pride in his work, that was clear. He even made a set of dentures for my Dad. Dad had them 'til the day he passed away and as far as I know never had any problems with them. He was quite proud of them and the good job that Grandpa did.
So, I guess Grandpa did teach me something in an off hand way. Be proud of what you do and take care in what you do. But even still, with all of that, he seemed like such an outsider to me. Maybe that is how he felt. I never really thought much about it until just now. Hmmm. It's a thought.
Whether he truly did feel that way or not, I don't know, but no matter, he was still my Grandpa, and he was always kind. Always, kind to me. He was a kind and gentle man. That is how I choose to remember him.