I'm ok, but I'd like to just write something short about him.
It's short because my relationship with him was... not necessarily short, not necessarily simple, not limited-but it was something like that. How I view my relationship with my grandpa can be summed up in this story.
Grandpa seemed like a cold person growing up. I don't have any memories of him laughing, or smiling, or saying much of anything at all. He had a stone cold look, almost like he was looking right through the living room wall at something a mile away. I don't know why for sure, but he seems quiet in my memories-sitting at the end of the dining room table with his back to the mirror (if you've been to his home then you know the one I'm talking about), he has his elbows, a newspaper, and a glass of scotch with slivers of melting ice in it sitting on the table. This is my memory of him growing up. He was always there, hardly involved-but always watching.
Thinking back on him, he seems unapproachable - but when I was young I didn't think that at all. I knew that he was a construction worker. Enter my big imagination as well as a complete lack of understanding of social queues and I KNEW that he could build ANYTHING, specifically anything I wanted him to. I decided that all I needed to do was pester him to do it, and that I did. That something was a model ship, made of wood, with lots of sails that I could show off to my friends and spend much of my free time admiring. I was at my grandparents' house often while my parents were working or whatever it is that parents did while my adolescent world was turning, but only twice was I able to convince grandpa to bring me down to his magnificent shop to build me a boat.
I need to interject and tell you a little bit about myself.
Growing up I LOVED building things. I spent so many hours with my big tupperware bin full of Legos that my hands would get torn up from swishing the legos back and forth searching for the pieces i needed for my various lego spaceships and castles. I spent a lot of time playing with K'nex, lincoln logs, and puzzles. I know now that I got this fascination of building things from my grandpa - to this day, there are few things that I am more proud of than the things that I have made since I've taken up carpentry as a hobby. Just this year I have bought nine books relating to carpentry and construction and have read nearly all of them. In addition to this I have purchased somewhere in the neighborhood of $2,000 on power tools and hand tools (far too much money for a college kid to be spending on a hobby!) The more I build and the more tools I buy, the more I realize the connection I have with my grandpa even though he never taught me to enjoy it. It is in my genetic code and I know it came from grandpa.
Back to the story.
The first boat he made was completely unacceptable. It was a speed boat made of two hunks of two-by-four shaped using his stationary sander and spray-painted neon orange and navy blue. It did not look at all how I imagined it should-in fact I may have said that I thought it looked dumb, I was not pleased and I knew he was holding back so I kept on bugging him.
After a good long time of persistent "pretty please"s and "oh come on!"s he finally made me a second boat that met my standards. It had three masts, a long smooth racing yacht like body, sails made by grandma complete with a flag. It even has a stand. Needless to say it was far more elegant than the first. I was happy. It was a source of inspiration to me when I was young - not to sail, no-do you think I care about sailing? It was a source of inspiration to build things, anything.
I still have these boats somewhere at my parents' home. I could tell though, even at that young age, that they came at the expense of many annoying hours of badgering from his bug-eyed overly-enthusiastic grandson. I could tell he was annoyed throughout that whole process. Maybe it was the way he spoke to me when he said, "Luke! Listen to me, there are dangerous tools in this shop! Sit down at this bench and play with these rubber bands and I will make the boat. Don't touch anything."
Then I grew up some, grandma died, and my family moved one state west. Grandpa got sick, I went to college, got married, and he got even sicker-but then grandpa got sober... or something happened (I'm not completely sure what) but grandpa was suddenly different. It was like he was a different person. He would speak from his heart and tell jokes and for the first time that I could ever remember he would say "I love you" and it sounded like he meant it.
My last visit to his house a few months ago is the most special for me. I talked with him for the first time about my new interest in carpentry as a hobby. I told him about the tools that I had bought and the projects that I was in the middle of.
He was interested. He said, "Turn over your hands and let me see..." he looked. "Very good... you know Luke, you turned out to be a fine young man."
Thanks, Grandpa.
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