Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Grandpa's Stories

Like most people, I have two sets of grandparents. Unlike most, I call them strange names. On my mom's side we have Bobby (Grandpa) and Nonnie B (Grandma), while on my father's side, we have Opa (Grandpa) and Nonnie R (Grandma). This isn't terribly odd, but the people who live behind those names very much are.

If you think for a second that I'm the way I am because of some strange act of fate, or one of the many times I had a concussion and should have gone to the hospital, but didn't. Then you're sadly mistaken.

I want to tell you a little bit about my Grandpa, Opa. He's probably the one of my grandparents I know the best, not out of choice, I would never play favorites, just out of convenience mostly. My dad's parents, Nonnie R and Opa if you're paying attention, live in our garage. That sounds a lot more harsh than the actual situation, let me explain: Our garage is a four stall garage with a second story over one half of it, huge right? (My dad does a lot projects, but that's a story for another day.) My grandparents live in the second story. It's pretty comfortable, one bedroom, one bathroom. Good enough for me.

They've lived there for as long as I can remember, yes that's right mum, I can't remember not having them there. I love them dearly, but as well as I know my grandfather, I don't really know anything about him at all.

You see the man, while charming, is a little batty. Not clinical batty, selectively batty. He chooses what parts of his life to ignore and what parts to embellish. His whole seventy-four years have been one big fishing story.

He was in the military, he claims to have been this amazing soldier, and regaled me, when I was younger, of tales of his epic battles and amazing accuracy with a sniper rifle. I have no idea the man's actual battle history, but I am fairly certain he has claimed to have fought in both world wars, as well as the civil war. So whenever Opa says back in "The War" I have no idea where, when, or what he's talking about, but I always listened anyway. Maybe that was part of his allure, mass amount of mystery, and confusion..hmm

One of the man's favorite stories is how he invented hot chocolate. Apparently, while stationed overseas in "The War" the only food they would give the men was crusty bread, old milk (but not spoiled milk, oh no no, the guv'ment takes care of them soldiers.) and some very hard chocolate. My grandfather, being an eagle scout (Pretty sure he only made first class, I can't remember) gets this idea. Now the helmets they wore were solid steel, or something, and had no holes, apparently a lot of the men would cook in them (this seems fairly legit, but I really don't know) and my grandfather begins to boil the milk.

His Commander stalked up to him and yelled "RIEFFER! What in God's name are you doing?"

Smiling my Grandpa says "Just watch, sir."

He then slowly breaks up the chocolate in the milk and stirs it occasionally. After about ten minutes he pours a cup for his commander and for himself and they sip hesitantly at the strange brew.

"Rieffer! You're a God-damned genius! Where did you come up with this?"

"Just thought it sounded good, sir."

And then his commander apparently sold the idea and made millions. Or something.

Another time, he apparently invented super glue after killing a bear with a pocket knife. And then he saved his platoon from the harsh Russian winter by seeing the moss on the trees and guiding them back to camp with only a piece of tin foil and a bobby pin (where he got a bobby pin I didn't ask).

I found out years later that Opa was stationed at Fort A.P. Hill, Virginia, as a cook. He did, however, play cards like a champ and would take all the other soldiers ration cigarettes, which I guess is bad-ass enough for me.

If all these stories were true, you'd assume that the man would be a tough old codger now-a-days and would probably still revert back to military training, but since he made it all it up, you're sure he'd never do that.

You're wrong again.

When I was five (That's 5 people, take a moment to remember the age of five, go ahead, I'll wait...Good? Alright) My mom, dad, and I went to stay with them for Easter at an apartment where they lived before they moved in with us. Now I'm five, and what's at the front of a five-year-old's mind on Easter eve?

Bloody chocolate! CANDY!

That's all I cared about, so when I woke up the next morning before (so I thought) anyone else, and I found a butcher knife sticking in the door, you'll understand my confusion.

My little mind, that had yet to really grasp the concept of what knives can do, was so riveted on the shiny blade that when my grandfather, without a shirt, came creeping up behind me, I jumped a damned foot.

I turned to look at him, his pale chest with the huge scar from multiple open hearts glistening in the early morning light, and I asked, "Opa, what's that knife for?"

"Oh this?" He pulled it out and slowly ran it in front of his face, which was only inches from mine, "That damned Easter bunny come last night, but I got him, took me his tail too!"



I never cared for Easter much after that.



Let me make something clear though, I love my Opa, with all my heart. I may make fun of him here, and some of you might be offended by things he's done or said, but I love him for it. I hope to someday be a crazed old man like he is. I know you won't read this Opa, but thanks for being my Opa.

Skot/Scott

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VTszNLwFd0

4 comments:

  1. That's super cute! I wanna meet your Opa!

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  2. Very cute and funny. Very entertaining.

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  3. Haha!!! I love it!!! I remember we used to say he was sitting at his window watching us with a sniper while we had fires. But he's a good man. I like talking to him, the few times I have....and to clarify....so you DO remember them not living across from you?!

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  4. Lol, I remember them living elsewhere, but I don't remember the building across from us being vacant. Besides, when I was five, we didn't live at that house.

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