Overnight Stay/Clinic Dedication
11 years ago
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Narrative Essay for English
Keep in mind, it's a narrative story, so some things may not be totally accurate. They all happened, just not necessarily in that order or on the same day. And I'm not actually sure what age I was. I wrote it this morning, my last English essay, on 4 hours of sleep that was interrupted every hour by JJ. So it's...probably not as good as it could've been.
The Unexpected Gourmet
The only grandparent I ever had the honor of having a relationship with was my paternal grandfather. He passed away rather suddenly a few years ago, and I will always miss him; gruff, grumpy old man that he was. Not only do I look like him, but my personality is somewhat modeled on his when he was a young man. I suppose that is the reason we got along so famously.
The assisted living home he resided in was located just down the block from my elementary school, and I used to ride my bicycle over to there after school and spend time with him in his apartment, watching television or poring over his extensive collection of rare postage stamps and foreign currency, or sitting on the porch. We did not even need to speak. Sometimes simply sitting together was enough for the both of us.
On one particular occasion, I biked over to Grandpa’s house after school and had the entire evening to look forward to spending with him. My parents had to attend a meeting at church, so Grandpa was doing something he had not had an opportunity to do since he moved into the assisted living home: babysit. I could tell he didn’t quite know what to do with this change of events, since I usually came and went as I pleased.
His first dilemma was one that he solved in a way I have never forgotten: what to feed a 10 year old? I was not a picky eater, but that night I got a treat that has become one of my absolute favorite meals: frozen chicken nuggets and Pepsi. There are very few meals in existence that are more simple and foolproof: throw the nuggets on a pan and stick them in the oven for the time it says on the box, and while they are baking, pour the Pepsi into a few glasses over ice. It has been eleven years since I had that meal for the first time and it is still one of my favorites. I always get nostalgic when I eat it. The chicken was crispy on the outside and warm on the inside, and the Pepsi fizz was tickling my nose as I drank the rare treat. I am now reminded of how habits get passed down from generation to generation, because I remember my father having a similar meal with me, simply because he enjoyed it.
Grandpa’s second dilemma, how to entertain a ten year old for a few hours, was quickly solved since I knew how to play our family’s favorite game: cribbage. The rules of the game can get quite involved depending on whose rules are being used: the official rules, or Uncle Shorty’s rules, that he made up as he went along but insisted were actual rules. Grandpa and I whiled away the few hours my parents were gone playing highly competitive games of cribbage and poring over his coin collection. I actually ended up inheriting part of that collection and some of his rare stamps as well when he passed away.
I remember that when I left that night, I surprised him by the first real show of affection that had ever passed between us besides the cursory hug: I planted a kiss on his wrinkled, weathered old cheek. Affection is not something commonly displayed in my family, so it shocked Grandpa when I kissed him, but I remember that in the few seconds between that and me walking out the door, his face had lit up for the first time that I had ever seen in my entire life.
That evening, spent over frozen chicken nuggets, Pepsi, cribbage, and coins, was one of the best experiences of my childhood, and also one of the last times I had to spend with my grandfather before he died because shortly thereafter I moved away. I will always remember his eyes, so like mine in shape and color, twinkling for a split second after I kissed him on the cheek and walked out the door.
The Unexpected Gourmet
The only grandparent I ever had the honor of having a relationship with was my paternal grandfather. He passed away rather suddenly a few years ago, and I will always miss him; gruff, grumpy old man that he was. Not only do I look like him, but my personality is somewhat modeled on his when he was a young man. I suppose that is the reason we got along so famously.
The assisted living home he resided in was located just down the block from my elementary school, and I used to ride my bicycle over to there after school and spend time with him in his apartment, watching television or poring over his extensive collection of rare postage stamps and foreign currency, or sitting on the porch. We did not even need to speak. Sometimes simply sitting together was enough for the both of us.
On one particular occasion, I biked over to Grandpa’s house after school and had the entire evening to look forward to spending with him. My parents had to attend a meeting at church, so Grandpa was doing something he had not had an opportunity to do since he moved into the assisted living home: babysit. I could tell he didn’t quite know what to do with this change of events, since I usually came and went as I pleased.
His first dilemma was one that he solved in a way I have never forgotten: what to feed a 10 year old? I was not a picky eater, but that night I got a treat that has become one of my absolute favorite meals: frozen chicken nuggets and Pepsi. There are very few meals in existence that are more simple and foolproof: throw the nuggets on a pan and stick them in the oven for the time it says on the box, and while they are baking, pour the Pepsi into a few glasses over ice. It has been eleven years since I had that meal for the first time and it is still one of my favorites. I always get nostalgic when I eat it. The chicken was crispy on the outside and warm on the inside, and the Pepsi fizz was tickling my nose as I drank the rare treat. I am now reminded of how habits get passed down from generation to generation, because I remember my father having a similar meal with me, simply because he enjoyed it.
Grandpa’s second dilemma, how to entertain a ten year old for a few hours, was quickly solved since I knew how to play our family’s favorite game: cribbage. The rules of the game can get quite involved depending on whose rules are being used: the official rules, or Uncle Shorty’s rules, that he made up as he went along but insisted were actual rules. Grandpa and I whiled away the few hours my parents were gone playing highly competitive games of cribbage and poring over his coin collection. I actually ended up inheriting part of that collection and some of his rare stamps as well when he passed away.
I remember that when I left that night, I surprised him by the first real show of affection that had ever passed between us besides the cursory hug: I planted a kiss on his wrinkled, weathered old cheek. Affection is not something commonly displayed in my family, so it shocked Grandpa when I kissed him, but I remember that in the few seconds between that and me walking out the door, his face had lit up for the first time that I had ever seen in my entire life.
That evening, spent over frozen chicken nuggets, Pepsi, cribbage, and coins, was one of the best experiences of my childhood, and also one of the last times I had to spend with my grandfather before he died because shortly thereafter I moved away. I will always remember his eyes, so like mine in shape and color, twinkling for a split second after I kissed him on the cheek and walked out the door.
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