Grandpa G will most likely be remembered for his hearing loss, temper, and infrequent bathing. I think back to the week — or was it two? — that he drove me through Idaho, Utah, Oregon and Washington — hollering at me to take my nose out of my book and look at the scenery. He wanted me to see the sequoias, fields, and towns rush by. We stayed at my mother’s aunt’s in Utah and my cousin’s in Washington. Somewhere in between, I had my first buffalo burger. I wonder at his willingness to take a fourteen year old girl on a trip. His frustration with her soft voice. Trying to make her see the world outside.
Amongst more recent events — a SWAT team invading the basement, diapers, and threatening his wife — I see a grizzled man driving down the road in the evening, thumbs dancing on the steering wheel, wearing glasses with yellow lenses and curved metal earpieces that dig into the skin behind his ears.