i fly out in the wee hours of the morning to say goodbye to my papa. my skunker. i'm trying to get ready for this, but i've been running constant since i first heard on friday, that i only get moments to let it sink in.
thanksgiving 2002 |
this guy. he taught me to fish for tiny little sunfish on his friend's pond when i was 11. he badly attempted to teach me to bowl (he was semi-pro and i was scrawny), even though my toes on my left foot ended up bruised more than i got distance with that bowling ball. he was silly and called cats skunks and skunks cats most of my life - but only to me. he told me i looked good when my grandmother commented on weight gain after a baby. we'd take walks the summer i spent with both sets of grandparents, where he'd buy me bazooka joe bubblegum and a comic book. i think he was secretly proud of his granddaughter drinking good dark german beer instead of girly drinks.
he was far from perfect. but he was my grandfather and i loved him. 1930-2018.