I told my Grandpa he needed to stop smoking it was making him sicker. He hated when I would bring up stuff like this. I watched him as he lit the cigar, as the lighter touched the end of it and the smoke rose upon our heads.
“You don’t worry about me babygirl! You just worry about finishing high school.” He said slowly. I hated the fact that he would never listen to me when I wanted to talk about something serious like his health. Later on that night I was awaken by a loud sound of pots and pans being tossed in the ground. I quickly rushed to the tip of the stairs only to discover my grandpa throwing a fit. We hated when he would get drunk because he always got angry about simple things, it’s like he doesn’t know how to control his temper. I walked down the stairs and stood at the last step, he rushed passed me cursing up a storm. He smelled of stale cigarettes and alcohol.
“Where’s the keys CharDanay?” He growled, “where are they? You hid them from me again? I ain’t got time for this tonight.” Every time my Grandpa started drinking a little too much, I would always hide the keys from him because he doesn’t need to be drinking and driving, especially when it’s pitch dark outside and raining. I didn’t like when my Grandmother would leave me here with him when he had been drinking, it seemed to me like he would only get really drunk when my grandmother went to church at night.
“Papa, you 're not getting the keys, you been drinkin’ and you don’t need to be drivin’