Grandpa's Little Girl


My Grandfather died when I was five. I never knew my father, so instead of being a daddy's girl I was a
Grandpa's girl. My aunt told me the story about when my mom said she was pregnant. My aunt said that my
Grandpa was only mad until my mom said she was keeping the baby,and then he took the old crib and
painted it blue. My aunt says that was they only time I disappointed him. I'm not even so sure I
really did. I mean, I'm more of a tomboy than a pink girl anyway. He was the one who always
watched me while mom and Grandma were at work. My mom suggested hiring a baby-sitter,
thinking that he was older and may want to rest a little, but they say that he yelled at
her and said there was no need for me to stay with a stranger as long as he was alive. She never
brought up the subject again. I remember going for walks with him every afternoon.
I think we usually went down Stove pipe Rd. He always had me on the inside of the road, away from the cars.
He had a lot of hobbies too. One of them was golf. When I was a little kid he bought me one of those plastic golf club sets, and he'd go out and play with me. We'd just try and hit the ball into
a plastic cup, but he made it seem like we were playing a real game. He also liked to draw and paint. He was pretty good at it too. One of the few T.V. programs we watched together was the artist guy on PBS. That and the Price is Right. We used to watch that one too. I loved the plinko game. One morning though, Grandma and mom sat me down at the kitchen table and told me that Grandpa had had a heart attack during the night, and that he was gone. I didn't really understand what that ment, other than he wasn't coming back for a very long time. I don't remember very much of the funeral. The one thing I do remember though is when mom took me down to view the casket. The rug was a dull red, and the casket was a dark brown. Everything was very dull. When I got up there I had to stand on a stool to see in the casket. One of his golf clubs was in there with him. He looked like he was asleep. I always gave him a kiss when I said good-bye to him, so I gave him one this time too. But he was cold. I couldn't understand why he was so cold. That's when I started crying. Not out of mourning, but out of shock and confusion. I just couldn't understand why he was cold. Last October was my 18th birthday. My Aunt Lori gave me a pack of pictures with my present. The pictures were in one of the nice plastic envelopes and had construction paper taped on it. The front said 'Happy 18th Birthday'. When I opened the flap it had more writing on the inside. 'Grandpa would be proud of you.' The first picture in the pack was one of me and Grandpa in the garden. I was watering, well, over watering the plants. Grandpa was standing behind me with his hand over his face, shaking his head in disbelief. I started crying when I read the inscription and saw the picture. I couldn't stop crying for about ten minutes afterward. Even though he's been dead for 13 years, or perhaps because he's been dead, what his opinion of me would be really matters. I guess I am still just Grandpa's little girl.