Grandpa's eyes are fixed on the T.V. I
wonder what he's thinking because I know he does not understand basketball.
He had tried to play with his grandson,
but the potato had refused. Rebelliously slapped his knee with his chubby hand
and ran away with a squishy rubber ball. He sat back into the sunken couch. I
could feel him sigh.
His actions are a well-intentioned plea for company
I remember being carried on his back
from preschool to his house. When his back began to ache, he placed me into a
shopping cart and pushed me up the hills and past the trees. I woke up once.
Then closed my eyes and slept leaning forward on his shoulder all the way
home.
We
used to make paper boats and airplanes as I waited for mommy to pick me up.
Then
threw them out the window and watched them crash-dive.
He was a mechanic who repaired fighter
airplanes in World War II. I've always wanted to ask him questions. Who were
your friends? How did you feel? Did you... But I don't think he wants to be
asked.
"I love you grandpa"
He pats my head and smiles.
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