Grandpa

You'd think he was a saint, the way my grandmother talks about him, but from what I remember, he only ordered her around or ignored her.

My grandfather was only a nice man when it was to his benefit. He'd feed me hot dogs and sweets so I wouldn't tell my mom he took me to the horse track. Everyone once in a while he'd place a bet for me. We'd wander down to where they kept the horses. I'd look at them and pick one - the one that looked the best with his little blanket on. I won a few times and we'd buy cotton candy with the earnings. But most of the time I'd sit with a pad of paper and make-up stories about my dolls.

He was the one that taught me to be quiet. He taught me not to exist. He taught my grandmother not to exist, too. She was a radiant beauty in love with life and in love with a bad man. He didn't make her a proper wife; he was never able to buy a house because of his gambling. They lived from paycheck to paycheck and were never able to make it a Merry Christmas for their children. When the grandchildren came - I was the first - Grandma started sneaking money out of his wallet in the middle of the night and tucking it in a coffee can hidden behind the washing machine where he'd never look.

Photo: wwit