A Short Story : The Story Of My Grandfathers

On Halloween 2006 while most children were getting ready to go trick or treating, I wasn’t. I was sitting in Lancaster General Hospital waiting room confused on what just happened. I have never wanted to see my father more than I did in that moment. I can remember the day like it was yesterday; there are so many details I can remember that I can’t believe that I can remember. The nurse finally allowed for to see my father for what would seem like 3 seconds. I walked in and scanned the room. My father’s father arms folded looking down trying not to cry. My grandma and grandpa standing at the end of the bed, faces red, soaked with tears. My mom sitting next to him welcoming me into her arms. The look on her face when I walked into the room is still drilled in my head. Her eyes were puffy, her smile she was trying to comfort me with was just not her usual smile. The vibe in the room was depressing, dismal, and heartbroken. As I sat down on her lap, my father manage to muscle up the energy to say hi to me. When I flash back to this moment, I remember him looking pale, almost dead. He was hooked up to what seemed like a million of tubes, and his neck held together by a collar. I was so confused on what had happen. Later, I came to

“Yet another boring, standard Monday morning.” Richard sighed as he walked to wake the men up. “Attention!” Richard called out loudly to the groggy and fatigued Marines. The men immediately woke up and began their rigorous routine of drills for the day, which are: eating a hearty breakfast, run 2 miles, then do the obstacle course, and then everyone's favorite part, the shooting range. Then, as always, Diedrich Manfred was horsing around again, playing with his rifle. “You no good scoundrel!” Richard shouted walking over to Diedrich Manfred.

Even after being begged not to move from the tiny apartment to Clybourne Park, an all white part of Chicago, the Youngers decided to move anyway. They decided to take the leap of faith and start a new life in a part of town where they knew they wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms. They knew that they weren’t going to get to their new house and see a gift basket on the front porch. The Youngers had courage though, and they took the chance.

Over 300 people lined up at the door of an oratory waiting to pay their respects. Regardless if they knew my grandpa or not it’s as if people felt some sort of obligation, like it’s the right thing to do to mourn over the loss of someone they may or may not have known. It was late January in the small town of Hastey, Minnesota, the ground was as frozen as the hearts of those mourning over the loss of my grandpa. When I found out my grandpa had passed away the piercing feeling in my gut was as harsh as the morbid,Minnesota winter.Majority of people there were nicely dressed in black, with black under their eyes as an accent because nothing but tears have seen those eyes in days.

I have an abundance of grotesque, yet, barely visible memories of childhood. However, no breathtaking family trips, no unique family togetherness that taught a moral lesson, no abnormal holidays. We still ate family meals together, but most often the children and adults lived in different worlds. When I needed comforting or wanted the best of both worlds, I could turn to my Grandpa.

Depending on the cancer, it may or may not be a death sentence. Many people who have cancer are held with suspense. Along with suspense come a fierce medical struggle. My thoughts and feelings are just scattered all over the place. I didn't really understand all that was going on in my life. I love to fish which keeps me active and has taught me lessons on learning even at the age I am at. I work plastering buildings which kept me on my feet, and has taught me to be flexible. I am very diligent at watching my diet and I have a schedule for exercising. So when I was told I had prostate cancer I almost didn’t believe it. I seemed to be functioning fine. So let me tell you a little bit about my cancer story. Here it goes.

The drive to the medical center was really odd. There was no talking and every time my mom tried to start a conversation my Father would try to avoid it. “Look it’s Angel Stadium” my Mother said out loud to my Father. He said nothing and attempted to fall asleep. The rest of the drive there I thought how serious this trip really is. At first I did not take it too seriously but with every minute that would pass I felt more and more scared. It felt like I was in a room and the walls were caving in slowly. My mind was thinking of the things that could happen and I thought television shows and real life scenarios where things go wrong in operation rooms. I thought to myself “Stop thinking about that!” and continually repeated it in my head but the thoughts were stuck in my head like a piece of gum. We arrived to the Holiday Inn hotel right off of interstate 405 and only about 3 miles from the hospital. I was somewhat amased at the fact that the hotel looked somewhat like a wide tower. I was excited because this was my first time being in a hotel. We entered our room and the first thing I noticed was the view. We were on the eleventh floor and right above us was a restaurant on the last floor. By this time it was ten o’clock and we had to wake up at five am so we quickly fell asleep. I felt a few taps on my shoulder and I heard my Mother's voice “Wake up, wake up” she said. I could tell that my Father did not get much sleep. His eyes were

My grandfather’s name was Charles Asa Davis, Jr. He was the son of Charles A. Davis Sr and Lois Lee Loggins Davis. My grandfather grew up in Bradenton, Florida which is about forty-five minutes south of Tampa, Florida. He came from an extensive line of fishermen and was a hard worker by all accounts. As a young man, he learned the art of plastering to better support his family. When building was slow, he would then go on commercial fishing trips for more income. My grandfather which we called him “Papa” was an honest, good, and tough man.

All my family knew that my grandpa Al was getting older and couldn't do as much. Over the next few weeks, he sounded like he was getting sick. He was getting slower. But because he is as stubborn as they come, he never tried to stop working. This all concluded with a life changing moment.

All movies have three parts, a beginning, middle, and end. This movie I’m going to share with you is no different, except this movie plays in my head every time I think about Papa. Even though I was so young I remember every day spent with Papa as if there is a movie reel going round and round in my head. Let me take you into this movie that I call life, so you too can experience Papa as I had.

When we were together we were invincible, us against the world. I’d look up to him, not only because he was 6’4, but because he was my grandpa. I have clear memories of him picking me up from school, playing old school reggae music during our adventurous car rides. We’d always sing along to our favorites, sometimes turn the music up so loud the people in the cars next to us could hear it. When I would visit his apartment, the familiar smell of drywall and pennies would fill the air. It was my hideaway, my home away from home. My grandpa collected pennies in water jugs. He would say that one day they’d be worth more than just pennies. I loved it there, not only because he had a freezer filled with many flavors of ice cream to which he would often say to me “you can have all you can eat” but because it was our time to bond. For five years it was my mom, my dad, and my grandpa helping me to grow. Those are my favorite people, my role models. Being around my grandpa brought me such comfort and joy.

I woke up on a Friday morning I was four years old, I ran out to where my family was gathered. It was normally, my mom just had made breakfast the usual bacon, eggs, and grits with a cup of orange juice. My family ate breakfast all together, however there was an awkwardness in the air, for my sisters had sneaked out of the house to go to a party that my dad and mom had said no too. As the conversation continued on, It became seven twenty and my sisters had to leave for school. So they went outside and their friend picked them up and went down the street towards the high school. I went back inside finished my breakfast as my parents and other older sister sat there and talked about the whole ordeal and what they should do about it. As they talked the phone rang, when my father picked it up it was the sheriff. Beginning nosey I listened up to their conversation and heard the officer say something about a crash. My parents immediately reacted as my dad said my sisters had been in a crash and it did not look good. My parents loaded me up into my car seat. Still not knowing what had happened I thought my sister Kez was late for school. I soon realized that this was not so for they turned right away from the school. Heading down a worn down california street about a mile out of the city limit. I soon saw a crashed car that had been left nothing rubble. The debris of the crash had littered the street for about a hundred feet in every direction this was made up of glass and

When I was a child, my late grandfather and I spent every summer on the bank of the river ganges. We would skip stones across the water, breaking the surface of incoming swells. We would wage Wrs, with sticks for swords and shells for arrows, like the most fearsome of ancient kings and queens. Idyllic. They never ended. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, under the azure and warmth of the indian skies, these days continued. My earliest memories of my grandfather were couloured by the times in these moments. Coating the wet-sand with the dryer sand grains on the bay, throwing clay-sand bombs from his biomechanical trbuchet. Twiddling his toes amongst the cool baysand and fiddling with his platinum-irridium vile. 20 years later I cant help but feel the same cool clay on the bank .

Richard Puz once said “Death leaves a memory no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.” I don’t remember every moment with him but he was someone who I looked up to, someone who told me stories, someone who watched over me and someone who loved me. He was my grandfather.

“Dad!? Where are you going?” I asked. “Oh nowhere son just stay home. I'll be back by one in the morning.Don't worry” He said.“Why do you do this to me dad? I said but it was too late. He shut the garage door and sped off into the dark night. I knew where he went. I knew what he did. He did this every night and it hasn't gotten us anywhere. He goes to the Casino 30 minutes away and gambles all of our money down the drain. My dad doesn't have a job so we can't pay rent for this cheap motel we live in and we are on our last strike. The manager says if we don't pay our bill in 7 days, they are kicking us out. I went to bed that night hungry, but I was used to it.