He wasn’t just my grandpa. He was my dad, my mom, and every other word for family I had.
We weren’t perfect. Good Lord, we weren’t!
Grandpa burned dinner. I forgot about the chores. We argued about curfew.
But we were exactly right for each other.
Whenever I got anxious about school dances, Grandpa would push the kitchen chairs aside and say, “Come on, kiddo. A lady should always know how to dance.”
He was my dad, my mom, and every other word for family I had.
We’d spin around the linoleum until I was laughing too hard to be nervous.
He always finished the same way: “When your prom comes, I’ll be the most handsome date there.”
