As I walked through the door of the funeral home, the floral arrangements was a blur colors. I wiped away my tears; I headed over to the collection of pictures of my grandfather. His smile seemed to rise above the pictures, and just for a moment, I could almost hear him laugh and see his eyes sparkle as they did when he told me one of his jokes. My eyes looked through the old pictures, looking for myself among the images. There it was, a photo of Grandpa holding me in his lap when I was probably no more than four years old. Then I let my mind drift……
He always called me his little Jew. This made my heart melt every time I heard it. He said I reminded him of a Jewish child with dark curly hair and big dark eyes like most Jewish people as he portrayed them
My grandfather was American Indian with a passion for drinking and smoking while he trapped snapper turtles and fishing for bull heads. He was 6’1, very tall for his race, skin so brown that it was almost black, and coal black eyes like a demon. His face was rugged and weathered from working outdoors in the lumber yard all of his life, but his heart was as big as the universe.
His house was a very special place to be. I lived with my grandfather for many years during the summer when I was little. His house always seemed to have something about it that kept me coming back year after year. His house was of decaying wood, which reminded me of age. The white siding showed signs of neglect. Paint chips had fallen off and laid on the window ledge and shudders, leaving small patches of wood showing. The shudders were brown and rough, like the bark of an old tree. Hanging uneven, they gave the impression of abandonment. Mounted next to the porch stood a cast iron rail, although it was crooked, but it still looked like had the same strength as if it were new. A wobbly old mailbox was still next to the porch. The post was rotten from so many years of sun and snow; it amazed me that it still stood. The numbers on the mailbox implied that he’d been living there for a lot years. As I recall, they had always been there, each simply hanging by their own tiny nails. Each number showed signs of, faded, gold color, with spots of rust on their surface. The door looked like a collection of scrap wood and glass hung on its hinges.
The Essay on Years Ago Watch Grandmother Grandfather
One of a prized possession for me would be an old fashioned watch given by my grandmother ten years ago. My grandmother bought this watch fifty years ago for my grandfather forty years old birthday. It was made by "Citizen Watch Co", rectangular shape style and has a leather straps. The watch was very popular back into 1940 because it was a "limited edition" watch. However, the price of the watch ...
Down the front steps was the yard. The yard was enormous, a vast of green, what almost seemed to go on forever, covered by sticks, and that had fallen from the “great tree”. The “great tree,” as I called it, was a gigantic tree that reached to the heavens. I often wondered what would happen if I could reach the top. As you walk into the front door of his house you saw a long stairway that led up to the second level of the house where there were 4 huge bedrooms that held oversized beds and furniture. This is where grandpa would carry me to bed when I fell asleep watching my favorite Scooby Doo movies on the sofa.
My grandfather’s house was always full of laughing, smiles and lots of happiness. There was always someone over to his house visiting whether it was family or friends. My grandfather’s door was always open to everyone no matter what. When my grandfather had company, sometimes he used his big gruff voice to get our attention, he would tell me very seriously to act nicely in front of them or he would send me after a switch.
My grandfather always sat in the kitchen of his house. This is where he would drink his hot black coffee with no sugar and smoke his cigarettes. He would sometimes give me a little cup of his coffee with sugar and hand me the comic section of the paper. He would sometimes sit in his kitchen for hours and do nothing but smoke and read his paper.
The Essay on Halfway House Programs and the Community
The use of halfway houses as a starting point for those who were once in prison is a great idea and can be beneficial to not only the individuals who are having to adjust to life outside of prison but also to the community around them. These homes help to stabilize the individual, help them to be able to adjust to life in society again and help them to become better parts of society. There are ...
During the summers, he would always spend most of his time with me, teaching the art of how to draw out night crawlers from the dew covered ground with two metal steel rods that was connected to an old electric wire from a lamp with wooden handles attached to the top. He would plug it in and we hurry and grab them as quickly as we could before they could go back in the ground and count out 30 for each container to sell to the local bait shop. He would teach me how to bait a fish hook with them slimy little brown worms. They would roll up into a ball when you stuck the hook in its butt or was it its head, I never really knew.
The music started to play” Amazing Grace” and it brought me back to reality. He has been gone for some 30 years or more now. I miss him dearly. I think of him each time I drive by decrepit old houses in need of some attention and when I have to bait my hook with them slimy little worms when we go fishing.
