My Great-grandfather Turns Twelve Today
(c) 2003 Bill Dodds
Chapter 1
"Hurry up, Michael, we're
going to be late!" my father yelled up the stairs at me.
Maybe Michael doesn't even want to go, I thought. Did that
ever occur to you? Maybe Michael has better things to do on his twelfth birthday
than ride all the way to Fair Brook and be around a bunch of old people who
smell like they wet their pants.
Most of them don't even wear pants, I corrected myself. They
just sit around or lie around in those stupid gowns and robes and they drool and
cough.
Happy birthday, dear Michael. Happy birthday to me.
I stared out the window. It was raining really hard. There
was some lightning and thunder.
"Mom says you can open one present before we go!"
Dad shouted up at me.
Present? All right!
I found my jacket. For some reason my brother had stuffed it
under my bed. Probably I had accidentally left it on "his" side of the
room and so he had crammed it under there. That was so typical.
"Michael!"
I was heading downstairs when I heard that same stupid
brother ask, "How come he gets to open a present now?"
"Just one," my mom said. "We're opening the
rest of them at Fair Brook."
That'll be fun, I thought. We can pass them around and let
everyone slobber on them.
"But we're not supposed to open presents until after
the cake," he said. "That’s the way we always do it."
For a guy who was only 14, Robert was a real pain when it
came to explaining how it had to be done. He always knew how everything had
to be done. And he was always ready to tell the rest of us.
"Get a grip," David said. That was my other older
brother. He was 16 and had just gotten his driver's license and his letter
jacket for track. David was madly in love... with David. But at least most of
the time he was on my side. That was mainly because he knew it really bugged
Robert. "How far to Fair Brook?" he asked my dad.
As if we hadn't been there a billion times.
"About 35 miles," Dad said.
David looked at his watch. "We should get going,"
he said.
Oh, okay, Dad Jr.
"He only gets to open a small present, huh?" Robert
asked.
"I get to pick," I said. So roll on out that brand
new bike!
"Here." Mom handed me a shopping bag that wasn't
very heavy.
"I guess there's not a bicycle in here, huh?" I
asked and she laughed as if I had made a joke.
"We figured you can have David's old bike," Dad
said.
David's old bike! That piece of junk?
"Not have," David corrected them. "I said he
could buy it from me. Cheap."
Talk about cheap.
"How much?" I asked.
"We'll discuss that later," Dad said. "We've
got to get going."
"So open one!" That was my little sister Sarah who
was almost 9. She had just finished the third grade. She was all right for short
periods of time.
"You want me to go warm up the car?" David asked my
dad.
In the middle of June? It was raining not snowing.
"I think it'll be okay," Dad said.
"So is he gonna open a stupid present or what?"
Robert whined. "I don't want to waste all my Saturday at that place."
Dad didn't exactly growl but when he exhaled there was
something there that said, "Watch out!"
"I mean," Robert quickly added, "I have a few
other things I have to do later today and so I think we should get going."
"So open one," Sarah said again.
I looked in the bag. There were four or five packages inside.
All wrapped up in "Happy Birthday" wrapping paper. "What's my
main one?" I asked Mom.
"No fair..." Robert said. "On my birthday I
had to wait until..."
"This one." Mom reached in and pulled out the
smallest package. It was about five inches long, an inch and a half wide and an
inch and a half deep. She handed it to me. It was heavy.
"Probably a harmonica," David said.
I hate that. I hate when people guess what's in a present and
then they're right and they say, "I told you so."
"Nope," Dad said.
"It's small," I said to Robert. "You said it
would be okay if I opened a small one."
"Shut up."
"Boys," my mom said.
He started it, I thought.
"Probably a pocket knife," David said. I tore open
the paper before he could make another guess. I was already too late. "Told
you," he said, sounding smug.
It was one of those Swiss Army knives. The red ones. The kind
that have a bunch of stuff beside blades. A screwdriver and tweezers and
toothpick and saw and leather punch and can opener and bunch of other stuff.
"Cool," I said and then remembered to add,
"Thank you."
Dad nodded and Mom gave me a little hug.
"Can I take it with me?" I asked.
"Sure," Dad said. "I know Great-grandpa would
love to see it."
That brought me back to reality. Dad's grandpa. My
great-grandpa. That's who we were going to see at Fair Brook. He and I have the
same birthday. He was 88 when I was born. I never got to have a birthday all to
myself.
Today I turned 12. That made him 100. The whole family --
grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins -- were getting together to
celebrate. They were getting together for Great-grandpa, not for me.
I wondered if he would even be awake for any of it.
"Grandpa told me Great-grandpa wants to talk to
you," Dad said to me.
"Gee, that'll be fun," Robert said and then wrapped
his lips around his teeth and pretended he was trying to talk but he didn't have
any teeth.
"Robert!" Mom said and he shut up. Then she went to
the kitchen to get my birthday cake, some chips and some potato salad and Dad,
David and Sarah headed for the car.
Robert gave me his "gummy" face again and
whispered, "Probably wants to give you a great, big birthday kiss."
Go to Chapter 2
