My Grandfather, the Chippendale

Jun 16, 2008


It’s weird knowing that I am building a relationship with my grandfather in a place people come to die.

My relationship with my grandfather has possibly been the slowest growing relationship on the face of the Earth. Most of it has to do with my parents’ desire to prevent it, and much of it has to do with the fact that I have been mostly incapable of doing it on my own until recently, anyway. I saw him infrequently, maybe once a year. Sometimes less.

My grandfather now lives in an assisted living facility in Houston-ish, Texas. And here I am, sitting next to him as he blares his television, watching some sitcom I’ve never known existed about a small town and all of its unimportant problems. I’m on my computer and he’s sitting in the recliner next to me. It’s late and I think he’s wants me to go to bed before he does. He’s a very prideful man. Or maybe he wants the same thing I want: love.

At this point, it’s becoming more and more obvious to me that I am one of very few people that truly love him.

A few years ago he was in a car accident and suffered a concussion, leading to mild dementia. Since then, he’s been a completely different person. He’s kinder, sweeter, and even more deaf. He has a new girlfriend. He really is a Southern gentleman. Before the accident he was a mean, selfish alcoholic with anger management issues. I guess he still is selfish, but who isn’t?

He’s much more fragile these days, but his character is still strong. I can tell because when I leaned over to pick up a boring-ass Veterans of Foreign Wars magazine he leaned over the side of his chair, picked up a pile of porn and passed it around to my sister, her boyfriend, and myself and said, “Here, read the good stuff.” After a thoroughly awkward moment we laughed like idiots and I asked for a magazine with something with words, because I actually like to read things with substance on occasion. I picked up a Playboy.

This event only follows my current favorite quote of his. While walking to my parents’ guest room we were informed that the residents of the home have decorated the room. My dad joked that there is probably a velvet Elvis somewhere is the room. So I asked Gramps, “Hey Grandpa, is there a velvet Elvis?”

“What the HELL is that!”

He laughed along with us for a good minute or two and that’s when I realized that the more I mess with him, the more he understands me. We have the same sense of humor, only his is about 60 years older than mine.

The person I am today is the person that needs my grandfather. He never had me around; his grandson, without another grandfather. And here we are, spending this evening watching television. There were a few words exchanged regarding politics, girlfriends, musical instruments, and throwing mad-hoppin’ parties, and I think for the first time we’ve really connected.

He finally called it quits and went to bed. As he dressed for bed he closed the door to his room, but not before pretending to start stripping for me. No words were spoken; just laughter.