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Despite my track record of dysfunctional relationships, my father and my step father, there are a few really awesome men in my life. One of them is my grandfather on my mother’s side. I wish I had met a man like him, instead of all the losers I have been through. He is one of those men who fit into the category of “they don’t make them like that anymore”.

My Grandpa is a devoted family man, who has always taken pride in his home, his family and most importantly, in my view, was one of the few men who demonstrated that he cherished his wife. I am sure he had a bit of OCD, which was handed down to my uncle (more on that another time).

Here are some things about him that I think are particularly great: The lush, thick green perfectly manicured lawn that he mowed in perfect lines; washing, gassing up and warming up Granny’s car before she went out; making Granny’s breakfast on the weekend (although I hate fried eggs and he tried to make me eat a fried egg once when I spent the weekend); the cool fish pond he made; how clean he kept his workshop; riding in the car with him when he drove too fast around the mountainside and laughing at the rush; watching him cut the turkey in great-granny’s kitchen and sharing the first taste of meat with me before it hit the table; the way he rubbed cookies on my feet and then ate them as I squealed in laughter; when he says “Go on!!” with enthusiasm when you’re telling him a story; he always looks his best every time I see him; he is nice to every person he meets, and has the ability to talk and make friends with anyone who comes into his path; he listened to every repetitive story I told him when I was a kid, (still does) with interest; I have never seen him yell at anyone-ever or lose his temper; the way he stands up when someone comes in the room and greets them with a smile, a hug or a handshake; and how he laughs when I joke about Granny locking him on the balcony of the cruise ships.

There are so many things that are so awesome about him. Even as a young kid, I could see that everyone loved him. He was a respected person in his community, and always was volunteering his time some how to help others.

Grandpa was a school bus driver for our district when we were kids. Because our community was rural farmland and reserve area, most of the kids in the school took the bus. Grandpa got started on the route that serviced the native reserve kids. It was not the most desirable route, as the First Nations kids I grew up with had little use for rules, and were a lively bunch to say the least. I still want to laugh out loud when I recall him telling the story of getting panty hose tossed at his head when he was driving. Many of the bus drivers would have freaked right out, but my grandpa found the humor in it. He loved driving the bus, and even when into the bus rodeos and competed against the other drivers. He was always the best driver in my mind.

My school bus driver was shot in the head by his son while sitting in his vehicle in the driveway of his home. He was a crotchety old bastard, and ruled his route with an iron fist, but I was shocked and saddened to hear what happened to him. At some point, my grandpa became our bus driver and I was so thrilled to see him every day. I was so proud that MY Grandpa had such an important job. It made me feel less odd and an outcast in some kind of way and somehow connected to the normal community in some way. I was so proud.

Unfortunately, shortly after Grandpa became our bus driver, my mother and step father got into a big blow out with my grandparents. They forbid us to speak to my Grandpa. Let me draw the scene here….All the kids from our neighborhood bussed in to school. So at our bus stop alone, there were 8-10 kids getting picked up. Everyone knew he was our grandfather. And here were were…not acknowledging him. Well 2 out of three of us weren’t. My 2 brothers were always ahead of me in the bus line, so I would watch as they got on, and did not make eye contact at all with Grandpa. I don’t blame them, entirely. My brothers dealt with the absolute craziness of our family dynamics the best way they knew how, and it was a means of coping and survival to tow the line, as the consequences were dire. Me, on the other hand….el black sheepo, just could not. I remember trying to get in a quick little wave or a whispering hello to him. I could see the hurt in his eyes every day. It must have been so hard for him to watch his grandkids get on the bus and not be able to even say hello.

I hate that my parents did that to him. I hate that despite any lame, ridiculous issues that they had with my grandparents, they forced us to be their extension and be mean to a person who meant so much to me. They are despicable for that. Looking back, I can see that a lesser man would have reacted negatively to us. But my grandpa was wise enough, despite how hurt he was, to see that we were just pawns, and had little choice in the matter.

I wish I had told my grandparents about how bad things were at home. I wish I was not so scared. I wish I told them about the beatings, the rants and raves, the mind control…I know now they would have done something. At the time, I was simply too scared. I was still convinced that this sick bastard step father was reading my mind.

There was more than one occasion when my brothers told on me for saying hello to my Grandpa, and there was complete hell to pay for it. Again, it is another situation that as an adult, I can see that if the light was shined on me, they were safer. So they told on me. Well, its my blog, so I am going to say they told on me a lot. More than they should have, because they knew what was going to happen, and it always included a lecture, a beating and some kind of personal property destruction. So there…perhaps I need to discuss that one a bit further in another entry….back to Grandpa….

In later years, I am thankful that I have been able to spend time with him again. He is still the same, much loved person that I have always known. I wish that my son could have known him the way I do. Then he would see what a true man really is. He is getting on in years now…91 years. It is hard to see him age, struggle with cancer and know that every moment I have with him now is precious. I struggle with the thought of losing a person who I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, loves me without judgement.

My mother has trumped-up new issues in the past year regarding my grandfather, and like in the past, no-contact bus scenario, at 40 years old, she expects me to side with her and not see or speak to him. I got in trouble for going to his 90th birthday party that she was a no-show at. I was accused of being disloyal to her. She freaked out again when she found out that I went to visit him when he was in the hospital recently. After calling me names, and saying things to me that I can not even blog about yet…she gave me an ultimatum. Cease contact and apologise to her for being a fuck up again. That kid getting on the bus in the morning and looking at her Grandpa has three words to say to you… Screw you, Mom.