My grandfather and I are very close. He has alzheimer's. Which is cruel because even during his best days I don't think he could ever pronounce that. Grandpa has a strong Scottish brogue. You should see his attempt at "squirrel", it's unbelievable. Of course, pronunciation isn't his only issue with the disease, Alzheimer's really sucks. He'll never admit he has it (See: Scottish^^), he only refers to his memory loss issues as "my thingmy".
I'm going to brag about him for a bit. My grandfather met my grandmother at a dance hall in Glasgow, Scotland. She was visiting her sister from Ireland and was convinced to go out and dance, regardless of how much she hated it. When they met she denied his advances. He told her he'd meet her at a street corner the next afternoon at 12:00 for a proper date. He swore that he wouldn't stay a second later than noon. She was an hour late, he stayed. By the time he was 25, he packed up his wife, three kids, and moved to America alone and with little money in his pocket. He raised a family on a carpenter's salary, and all three of his girls came into success of their own. That's half the story of how I came to be.
It's a shame that it took his diagnosis for me to want to learn more about him. After he got Alzheimer's, the clock ticked a little louder for me. Since his thigmy, we've spent a lot more time shooting the shit in local bars. He hasn't forgotten how to put back whiskey sours. My grandpa's recent memory is pretty much non-existent, so we just pretend that it doesn't exist and swap old stories. I don't shut the fuck up and he's my perfect audience. I love telling stories, and with Grandpa I have unlimited material. I land every punchline no matter how many times he's heard it. His stories are special though because he reaches so far back to where his memory is still near perfect. I know things about him that my mother and grandmother have never even heard. He talks about his time in the RAF (Royal Air Force), biking drunk through Loch Lomond, ex-girlfriends, and futures that could have been. After he told me the story an Australian girl that he almost married he looked at me and said "I think about her every now and then. Wonder what my life would've been if I married her. But then I look at you, and I know without a shadow of doubt in my heart, that I made the wrong choice."
The quarantine has been rough on the old man. His routine is off. Normally him and my grandmother grab their donut and coffee and drive down to the beachfront for a stroll or to stare at the New York skyline. The beach has been packed with stupid people with no respect for social distancing. Unbeknownst to my Grandpa, I conspired against him with the help of my 'tough' aunt to restrict his trips to the beachfront. It was ok at first, but the other day he lost it. We told him there was flooding down by the beach and that he wouldn't be able to get to it. He told my grandmother he didn't believe her and was going with or without her. If he was going to expose us as liars, we would've hoped for a little bit of memory loss. He took my Grandma's car and left without her. My grandmother called me, and I texted a cop I knew was on duty to ask to look out for him, but then all of a sudden, he came back. He only went to the end of the street. Grandpa threw the keys on the table and pouted on his chair for the rest of the day. My grandmother had to deal with him being grumpy, but I know secretly she was satisfied that he caved before she did.
It hasn't been all sad though. My mom told me a couple of weeks ago in church he went to go kiss an old friend on the cheek. We remind him of the virus, but it fucks right off after an hour or so. Apparently the look of shock and fear on this old lady's face at the prospect of my Grandpa kissing her was something out of a horror film. My mother didn't appreciate my laughter, but that didn't stop me from doing it. Then about a week ago, I drove past the beachfront and saw the oldies walking the boardwalk. I got out at a safe distance for a chat. My grandfather came over to give me a hug and a kiss. I kept backing away and telling him I can't for his own safety. He didn't know what the fuck I was talking about and thought I was fucking with him, so he kept chasing me. People might find that sad, but he was laughing from it, which made me laugh, and before you knew it we were both leaned up against the car trying to catch our breath from cackling.
This man has taught me so much. The necessity of family, how to laugh at yourself, and that just because something seems grim, doesn't mean you can't laugh at it. But the number one trait he passed down to me is how to tell really long stories. I plan on hearing many more of those stories. So it's time to hammer home my hidden message. If something happens to my Grandpa because you fucking idiots think you're too good to stay inside and watch TV, I will lick a hospital floor, hunt you down, and sneeze in your mouth.
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