In this age of personal computers it seems almost incredulous to me that when my grandfather was growing up the only means of transportation beyond train or ship was by horse. In fact my father had an uncle who ran away from home at age twelve to become a drummer boy for the Union Army during the Civil War.
Dad often described this uncle as unpleasant, someone outspoken with no filter. This also describes my grandfather! Gramps was a small, thin, wiry man with crust and lots of attitude. In today's vernacular Grandpa would be referred to as politically incorrect. He shocked and offended others, as did I whenever I quoted him. And this was during the late 1950's too!
However I never once heard him utter a profanity. This is surprising since his parents were tavern keepers.
But Grandpop (or Grandpoop as my mother called him) deserves credit for raising my father alone. His Irish born wife died when Dad was only seven years old. Grandpa never remarried.
I was NOT his favorite child. That would be my brother eleven years my senior. Grandpa probably considered him an extension of our father, although they were nothing alike. In his mind he seemed to consider me an extension of my mother whom he felt Dad never should have married, although my mother and I were quite dissimilar.
When I was a pre-schooler, my brother and I plus Grandpa all slept in the same large room, but in separate beds. The property must have been cursed because I recall terrifying nightmares there! During a particularly vivid and horrific one hideous demonic creatures were outside peering in our windows and clawing upon our walls to get inside.
I awoke and began bawling loudly. My grandfather hollered to shut up else he'd throw me outdoors for the remainder of the night! Just the thought petrified me! I never slept well in that house!
In 1958 when I was age seven, Dad landed the big job and we moved to that wonderful house with all the acreage as renters. There, my father fulfilled my fondest desire and bought me a horse. Grandpa had plenty of experience in this area assumed care. The horse was well treated and had plenty of acreage to run free.
I changed his name from Dynamite to Blaze.
Unfortunately due to mistreatment by the son of the previous owner he hated people. We soon discovered the horse was vicious. He did not like to be ridden and resorted to all manner of tricks to be rid of a rider. Besides bucking, one of his favorites was to rub up against high bushes that cut into our legs.
On a cloudy Saturday Dad was called into work. I was riding Blaze, he was constantly misbehaving. Thunder was rumbling, a bad storm was heading our way. My grandfather broke a switch from a nearby mango tree. However this animal had a temperament equal to his.
Each time Grandpa struck the horse he reared high. I hung on tight for dear life as lightning crashed overhead! I begged my grandfather to let me off the horse. He screamed back at me to stay on!
My mother stood there also pleading with him. "You're going to get her killed!" she hollered.
Finally I seized my chance! Quickly I jumped down and raced to the back door! My grandfather was shrieking at me, "Get back here!"
Once inside I felt safe and breathed a sigh of relief. Later my grandfather entered soaking wet and red eyed. Enraged he hurled insults at me one right after another! I felt worthless, plus he hated me now! I was convinced of that!
When my father learned of this he made it clear that henceforth I was forbidden to ride the horse by myself. I was still allowed to ride double with Sharla who was four years older. But even with her professional riding lessons Sharla often had difficulty controlling the horse.
One summer afternoon when my grandfather and I were alone, Sharla came for a horseback ride. Grandpa saddled him up. The two of us were atop Blaze only a short while before he began misbehaving. Grandpa reached for a mango switch and ordered us down. He mounted the horse himself.
We watched as Grandpa rode by on the opposite side of the long pond in the back. Soon the horse began acting up again. After being hit repeatedly with the switch Blaze started bucking wildly. Grandpa was thrown!
Sharla and I looked on, waiting for him to get up. But he didn't, he remained motionless on the ground. We feared Grandpa was dead! Sharla phoned her mother who had served as a military nurse during WWII.
She told us to stay back. As she approached Grandpa he started to regain consciousness. Grandpop was shaken, but otherwise okay.
Suddenly our rent was raised significantly, so my parents decided to move. They purchased a home within the city limits and Blaze was sold. To this day I miss that sprawling house with all the acreage!
A lifelong chain smoker of both cigarettes & cigars Grandpa died of lung cancer when I was in fifth grade. No tears fell from me. People remarked how calm and collected I was. Perhaps because someone I expected to love and protect me always seemed too quick to toss me into harm's way.
My father often told me that had I been closer in age to my brother I would have known a different relationship with Grandpop; by the time I came along he was just too old to enjoy a grandchild. -- I doubt it would have made a difference! I was an introverted quiet child, hardly the type to annoy an old person.
About fifteen years ago as I was coming downstairs a familiar scent of cigar smoke struck my nostrils. Grandpop was the only person I've ever known who smoked those things. I suspect that in spirit he dropped in, just out of curiosity, no other reason.
