I Wonder, Sometimes

by Little Miss Attila on May 31, 2010

. . . what it was that really broke my paternal grandfather. I think it might have been his experiences during World War II, when he was drafted into the army in his thirties.

He taught marksmanship before he was sent down to Panama for a couple of years. My grandmother kept his delivery route going, and later, I hear, blamed her bulked-up arms for making it harder to find dresses and blouses that fit. She turned to sewing to create a suitable wardrobe.

Grandpa lived to be a sensitive and cruel old man who liked to make me cry when I was a little girl.

At his fiftieth anniversary party, my grandmother was enjoying the attention and conversation among the table at that restaurant in downtown Whittier. I found Grandpa sitting off to the side by himself, and eased myself into the chair next to him.

“You hate this, don’t you?” I asked.

“I’ve got no use for it a-tall,” he replied. So I simply sat there, quite comfortably. I was in my twenties, a bit of a chatterbox much of the time, but I turned the motor mouth off and just hung out wordlessly next to him. Eventually, my father came along and snapped a picture of the two of us together, looking—I’m afraid—a bit severe.

Curly had a hard, hard life.

Please remember all the vets who have passed on. Those of you who pray might want to do so. Thanks.

{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }

ck May 31, 2010 at 7:04 pm

What is with you women?Men don’t have “issues” with their parents past 25.

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Little Miss Attila May 31, 2010 at 7:17 pm

Having recollections about my grandfather’s bitterness is an issue with my “parents”?

How so? If anyone has had to come to terms with that man’s legacy, it is my father. He’s 74, by the way.

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