Grandma and Grandpa - I Miss You :: Personal Narrative Profile

I miss you Grandpa I remember spending summers in Kansas with Grandpa. I grew up in the suburbs - spending summers in Kansas was a bit of culture shock. I remember waking up early and sitting around the kitchen table and listening while Grandpa and my mom sipped coffee and talked. The Hutch paper was always spread across the table, and inevitably, the conversation would turn to me. "He probably fails all his classes, don't he?" Grandpa would ask. A slow smile would spread across his aging face as his gaze shifted from my mom to me. "I don't think so, Grandpa," I'd respond, partially knowing he was joking, and partially wanting to prove myself. Then he'd lean back in his chair and look up at the ceiling. "No, you're a good kid. You're a good kid." He'd say quietly. He'd comment on a story I'd written, the one about spies and a nuclear power plant in Libya. I was in fourth grade at the time. "That was a good story you wrote. You got that from your great-great-grandfather's brother..." He'd go on telling me about my distant relative the author, and how that's where my writing came from. Later in the morning I'd climb into the rusty pickup with Grandpa and the sandy colored dog, Cherie. We'd drive the quarter mile through Raymond to the tiny post office to get the mail, Grandpa's callused hand hanging out the window. Sometimes I'd wait in the truck, watching farmers come and go through town, wondering why it took so long to get the mail. Sometimes I followed Grandpa in. "Hi Les," the woman behind the counter would say as we walked in. "Who's the handsome young man?" "Who, him? That ugly kid? Hell, I dunno," Grandpa would respond, rubbing his chin and looking at me. "Oh, Les," the woman said. "He's my grandson." "Kerry's boy?" she'd ask. "Yep." "I could tell, he looks a lot like him." "Yeah, him and his brother are visitin' from De-troit. I gotta entertain the little turds for a couple of weeks." That was Grandpa. Later we'd end up at Ike's Windmill and Farm Supply. Grandpa would drink more coffee, smoke a Marlboro, and joke with Geno and Ike, and whoever happened to come through the door. I remember trips to the Fish Gas Station, when Grandpa would treat my brother and I to a candy bar and a pop.