Grace and Nike Air High Tops

“Word on the street is that you’re a pretty good lover.”

Words no one ever wants to hear from their grandfather.

Lucky for me, mine says things like this often, without warning, and sometimes in public.

Aside from our shared affinity for a stiff drink, age inappropriate footwear, and a knack for getting stuck in new and hilarious places, I’d never thought of us as particularly close.

We know a fair bit about each other’s sexual escapades, which I’m sure is equally responsible for his heart condition and my inability to sleep through the night, but we don’t often spend time discussing anything of consequence.

Aside from the fact that he thinks reflexology is a religion, the only things I know for sure are that he’s stubborn, shameless, and probably personally paid off DR-HO’s mortgage.

I like to think that he’s responsible for the stubbornness, shamelessness, and frivolous spending habits I display from time to time too.

I first realized how alike we were on the eve of my 23rd Christmas when we got in a half-cut shouting match over what would entertain us – the Grinch or sports. After we passed the title of “entitled brat” back and forth a couple of times, he retreated only because the tryptophan was kicking in and he knew I was being propelled with a steady intake of red wine and youthful rage.

Gotta love a woman with a cause.

It wasn’t until he fell ill that I realized how much I wanted to be like my grandfather.

I’ve always admired the softer side of my Grandfather, which he unveils in entirety only on occasion as if it were a special treat (not unlike Mom’s candied yams which she forgot to make this Thanksgiving much to Grandpa’s upset).

Never forget.

Though he has the softness to call all of his children “sweetheart” and will often hold my hand while I eat Reece Puffs before I fly out the door, it wasn’t until circumstance stripped him of his comfort zone that I realized how poised and elegant he is in the face of adversity.

Sitting across from him in his hospital room, reeling from the aftershock of yet another jaw dropping admission from the comment vault of Bob Scheuerman, I watched as he held his nurse and thanked her for everything she had done to alleviate his fear and make him a little more comfortable in an unfriendly place.

I’ve watched him ride waves of confusion, fear, agitation, and exhaustion over the past weeks – but he continues to apologize for the days he feels he can’t find the strength to be soft, meets us with words of comfort when we should be the ones comforting him, and always ensures we know how loved we are.

I don’t care that I don’t know what he wanted to be when he was younger or what life lessons he learned from his own Grandfather. Nor do I care whether he knows what my favorite book is or where I was when I realized what type of person I wanted to be in this life.

So long as I come out of this life with even an ounce of the gentleness he exudes, I’ve found the closeness to him that I didn’t think I had.

Standing 6’3” in size 14 Nike Air High Tops, he is the grace I aspire to hold.