My Grandfather is the strongest guy I know.
Orphaned during the Great Depression, He fought in WWII and won a purple heart.
He sings to my grandmother now. And he cooked last thanksgiving dinner.
Today his body is tired- (he was born in 1918) but his light seems so much brighter than ever. Stronger.
Poppi used to scare me when i was little- he would yell loud and he meant it.
Heavens to Betsy- he would shake his head- why would you sit inside and watch TV on a Saturday afternoon? GO OUTSIDE AND PLAY.
We went on road trips- and they were no joke. The Adirondack mountains. Trailer hookups and peanut better sandwiches. Water rides, and fools gold. Baseball cards and solitaire.
He taught me how to drive stick. And to live my life. And that the trick to it is a good laugh, a good song, and fresh wild flowers. (and if all fails, a very tall glass of scotch)
I love sitting with him now- big smile on his face, and one on mine. I have learned well. He beams.
Then he asks me if I would sing for him at his funeral. I died inside and told him that I would gladly sing for him any day of the week. And I broke into "Singin' in the Rain" in the Emergency room at Columbia Memorial.
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