I went to my grandparents house after school today....just to visit.
It wasn't a great visit.
My grandma was out and I got stuck with my grandpa. I love the guy, but I don't really love being around him.
He told me a story about his childhood. He has lots of those.
He never gives an introduction like "I'm going to tell you a story about what happened to me." He just starts blurting things out.
This time he did it after inviting me to sit down on the couch to wait for my grandma.
I sat down and he sat down. We were silent for a few moments. Then he began.
"I was with my parents and another family. It was during the war. My father was depressed and anxious about his choice to stay with us. He felt he should be fighting. Yet he didn't want to leave us. He felt he needed to take care of us; and he hated himself for not doing a good job of it."
I started to get thirsty and wished my grandpa would be a good host and offer me something.
He didn't. He just kept talking.
"There was no clean running water like you have today," he said, and I wondered if he read my mind about being thirsty. "We had to use bottle water and it became hard to find. Here we were walking in the summer heat, looking for a new home because our old one had been invaded.
"We were thirsty and couldn't find anything to drink. We hadn't had anything to eat and drink since the day before.
"We came to a shop. It was looted, of course. A man there had taken over. He surrounded himself with glass bottles of juice.
"My parents and the other adults asked politely. They begged.
"He just laughed at them. He enjoyed seeing them suffer.
He opened a bottle of juice and drank it right in front of us."
Hearing all this from my grandpa made me even more thirsty. And I felt kind of guilty for that. My last drink had been before I left the house ten minutes before.
"I started crying. My parents pleaded again. The man relented, with a smirk. He said he couldn't stand to see children crying. We could have something. He poured a small bit of juice into a small plastic cup. He handed it to my father who was supposed to hand it to me. But my father didn't do that right away. He put the cup to his own lips. The man grabbed the drink angrily from him and shouted. That was for the child you selfish brute. He then poured the small amount of drink onto the floor. He had another cup ready for the other family's child and he poured that to the floor as well. Now none of you get anything."
"My father sobbed and said 'I was only going to take a sip'."
"The man said 'You're no better than the undead'. And then he screamed for us to get out."
I was incredibly thirsty and so angry at my father for ruining things for us. I hated him and at the same time I pitied him."
That was it. The story ended. Not only does my grandpa's stories lack proper introductions; they also lack conclusions.
And what was I to say to all this?
I ended up saying…after awhile. "That's very sad."
"Yes," he said. "You know it wasn't my father's fault. He was so thirsty. It's hard to think straight when you're thirsty like that."
"Did you ever get something to drink?" Yes. Stupid question. Duh.
"We did, but not until the next day. We found people we had lost a few days before. They had cans of soda."
"That's good," I said.
"Your grandma should be back soon," he said.
"Okay."
She wasn't back soon. I ended up leaving. I said I had homework.
As I was leaving he said, "My father refused to drink the soda. My mother had to beg him to drink. He needed to prove that he had self control."
I nodded as I walked out the door. Maybe I said something…like "Oh."
I'm wondering if my grandpa tells his stories when no one is around to listen.
It wasn't a great visit.
My grandma was out and I got stuck with my grandpa. I love the guy, but I don't really love being around him.
He told me a story about his childhood. He has lots of those.
He never gives an introduction like "I'm going to tell you a story about what happened to me." He just starts blurting things out.
This time he did it after inviting me to sit down on the couch to wait for my grandma.
I sat down and he sat down. We were silent for a few moments. Then he began.
"I was with my parents and another family. It was during the war. My father was depressed and anxious about his choice to stay with us. He felt he should be fighting. Yet he didn't want to leave us. He felt he needed to take care of us; and he hated himself for not doing a good job of it."
I started to get thirsty and wished my grandpa would be a good host and offer me something.
He didn't. He just kept talking.
"There was no clean running water like you have today," he said, and I wondered if he read my mind about being thirsty. "We had to use bottle water and it became hard to find. Here we were walking in the summer heat, looking for a new home because our old one had been invaded.
"We were thirsty and couldn't find anything to drink. We hadn't had anything to eat and drink since the day before.
"We came to a shop. It was looted, of course. A man there had taken over. He surrounded himself with glass bottles of juice.
"My parents and the other adults asked politely. They begged.
"He just laughed at them. He enjoyed seeing them suffer.
He opened a bottle of juice and drank it right in front of us."
Hearing all this from my grandpa made me even more thirsty. And I felt kind of guilty for that. My last drink had been before I left the house ten minutes before.
"I started crying. My parents pleaded again. The man relented, with a smirk. He said he couldn't stand to see children crying. We could have something. He poured a small bit of juice into a small plastic cup. He handed it to my father who was supposed to hand it to me. But my father didn't do that right away. He put the cup to his own lips. The man grabbed the drink angrily from him and shouted. That was for the child you selfish brute. He then poured the small amount of drink onto the floor. He had another cup ready for the other family's child and he poured that to the floor as well. Now none of you get anything."
"My father sobbed and said 'I was only going to take a sip'."
"The man said 'You're no better than the undead'. And then he screamed for us to get out."
I was incredibly thirsty and so angry at my father for ruining things for us. I hated him and at the same time I pitied him."
That was it. The story ended. Not only does my grandpa's stories lack proper introductions; they also lack conclusions.
And what was I to say to all this?
I ended up saying…after awhile. "That's very sad."
"Yes," he said. "You know it wasn't my father's fault. He was so thirsty. It's hard to think straight when you're thirsty like that."
"Did you ever get something to drink?" Yes. Stupid question. Duh.
"We did, but not until the next day. We found people we had lost a few days before. They had cans of soda."
"That's good," I said.
"Your grandma should be back soon," he said.
"Okay."
She wasn't back soon. I ended up leaving. I said I had homework.
As I was leaving he said, "My father refused to drink the soda. My mother had to beg him to drink. He needed to prove that he had self control."
I nodded as I walked out the door. Maybe I said something…like "Oh."
I'm wondering if my grandpa tells his stories when no one is around to listen.
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