“Hey Grandpa! What’s for supper?”

October 19, 2007 at 1:39 am (Sweet sticky things)

I’ve been carrying around a sandwich baggie of Werther’s Originals, the butterscotch candies made infamous by that old guy on the TV commercial. “Come here, Billy. Sit on my lap, have a piece of candy, and let’s talk about the first thing that pops up.”

I know. Eww…

I found them at work, and have been teasing Grinder about them mercilessly. In reality, they were left by a former employee who often smelled a little too much like last night’s cocktails, know-what-I-mean?

It didn’t stop me though. I’ve been making chi-mo jokes, threatening to use them as my Halloween outfit. (“What are you?” “Have a piece of candy, sit on my lap and I’ll show you” etc…)

Karma has a way of exacting revenge upon a smart ass like me. It’s payback time.

After arriving at work, I got a surprise visit from my ex-wife and daughter. I was thrilled! I hadn’t seen my daughter in months, and had been worried. Co-workers thought they had seen her running with a rough crowd, doing things I wouldn’t approve of or endorse. After hugs, I immediately quizzed her.

“Dad, I haven’t been in town for months, and the last time I ran with that crowd was in 2000.” She looked me square in the eye. She looked healthy, vibrant, well-fed. (All things she wasn’t, according to the report I got.) “I’m a cook in a cafe out past Hillsboro.”

The Ex elbowed her. “Tell him the real news. Why we’re in town.”

She blushed.

The Ex could hold it in no longer. “You’re going to be a Grandpa!”

“Really? How far along are you?”

“Three months.”

“No fuckin’ way. You’re the third girl I know expecting next spring. Was there some kind of love-in last summer?”

The Ex tickled my chin whiskers. “Lotta gray there, Gramps.”

“Hey, you’re gonna be a Grandma, Grandma. Back off!”

She grinned. “Got two bucks to feed your grandchild? We’re going to Burger King.”

“What? No McDonald’s French fries?” It was The Ex’s only craving, and no other French fry would do.

Daughter smirked. “I don’t eat deep-fried foods, and never eat at McDonald’s.”

I fished a ten-spot out of my wallet and gave it to The Ex. “No beer, cigarettes or scratch-offs, now…”

“Spoken like a true old guy.” The $10 disappeared into The Ex’s jacket. We spent a few minutes catching up. They had places to go, and I had to get to work.

As they left, and I went back around the counter, it began to sink in.

My little girl is gonna be a mom. I’m… going… to… be… a Grandpa. Holy fuck, Batman.

I’m still a little floored by the whole thing. The afternoon took on a surreal tone. I could have been a Grandpa a decade ago, and expected it, actually. That she’s waited this long, and is approaching things in a healthy manner with a man she’s been with for several years, is a blessing I could only dream of. The Grandpa thing is like the gray hairs; I’ve earned it, and I will wear it proudly.

Oddly enough, I feel younger than I did before I saw them.

One thing’s for sure. No more Grandpa jokes, and that bag of Werther’s has got to go.

2 Comments

  1. Zman said,

    Congrats Man!
    Glad to hear the ol fam is doing well.
    You know what I say about those gray hairs “at least they’re a hair”
    Man sitting here reading this has brought back a few.
    Always love to here from ya and always enjoy reading your stories.
    Have a good one Bro, your always in my thoughts.
    Zman

  2. gee-no said,

    Awwww…. Congradulations Big guy !

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