Giddyap!

 

Today's writing

Instead, there’s an email from my father: YOUR GRANDFATHER DIED. No preamble there, just straight-up news. I can’t even say bad news, because I never much liked my Grandpa Sam. I was 18 the last time I saw him and he greeted me with: “What are you now, 12?” It was no joke either. Unlike my Grandpa Bernie, who I adored, Sam’s sarcasm was more biting than amusing, more focused than funny. When I was 15 we bought an ancient Mercedes-Benz 240D, which lived on diesel and featured cracked fake-leather seats. When Sam saw it, he said: “Jesus Christ. You’re sitting on your ancestors.” Way to use our heritage against us, Gramps.