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Grandpa Haircut

I was just a little girl and I was scared. I remember the teenager in the alley behind my Grandpa’s house. The boy talked me into coming closer to the fence by telling me there was a dog running around behind the garage. I knew enough to be afraid but not afraid enough. When I got to the fence, he grabbed me and put his hand over my mouth. I started to kick and scream so he let me go and ran away. I ran crying into the house to tell my grandfather. He went looking for the kid but he was long gone. From that point on, Grandpa wouldn’t let me go outside alone.

Grandpa was my father's stepfather. He married my grandmother some years after my father's dad died (long before I was born.) Everyone loved him. He was honest, real, and down-to-earth. And he was the best grandpa ever!

Grandpa bought me my first rock and roll record album when I was eight. He took me shopping, to lunch, and for rides in his car. To me, he was the greatest Grandpa in the world.

He also took me for haircuts. In fact, I called him Grandpa Haircut. (This was so I didn’t confuse him with Grandpa Hudson, who took me to Hudson’s Department Store. Yes, I was an odd child.)

Grandpa Haircut had a really great pantry in his basement. He put a dart board on the door and we played darts while I served him a beer from the wet bar he had downstairs. He put pop in a clean beer bottle for me and let me have a “beer” too. When we tired of being inside, we’d go outside and he’d let me help him pull carrots in his garden. Sometimes he’d show me how to cast a fishing line in the driveway. He bought me a child’s bow and arrow set and put up targets in the yard for me. He bought some kids’ plastic golf clubs and showed me how to hit the ball. What a great guy.

He would even play house with me. I had a little tea set and I’d serve him and my grandmother in the dining room, or sometimes at a picnic outside. He’d put his hat and coat on and pretend he was coming home from work. I’d run to the door and hang up his hat and coat, give him the paper, and tell him dinner was almost ready. Sometimes I’d bring my dolls with me and he’d even play dolls with me.

But the best part of visiting Grandpa Haircut was when we just talked. He told me stories about when he was a kid, and about his family and his work as a chef in a hospital. He was a great cook and shared with me many of his recipes. He taught me things he knew about, and he made it interesting. He was my best friend, too. He was the best grandfather any kid could ever have.

Grandpa really listened to me. He didn’t judge me. He’d tell me when I was wrong but he didn’t yell at me, he didn’t say he was ashamed of me, and he always told me he loved me regardless of what I may have done. He let me be myself and didn’t try to change me. I felt I could be totally myself with him. He accepted me and paid attention to me. He was always proud of me and my accomplishments.

There are pictures of me when I was just a baby. Two in particular are most precious. They were obviously taken several minutes apart. In the first one, I am crying and my grandfather has a sad expression on his face as he holds me. In the second one, I am sleeping, and Grandpa has a big, happy smile on his face. That says it all. I was his angel. His world revolved around me. I was too young at the time to know how much he loved me, but I realized it as I got older. I hope he knows now how much I loved him because I’m not sure I told him enough when he was alive.

One day my father told me that Grandpa was sick and wouldn’t be able to play with me as much. Dad told me that I had to be careful so I didn’t tire Grandpa out too much and make him sicker. That was the only explanation I was ever given. When I got a little older, I guess I knew he was going to die but never wanted to think about it. It was just too impossible to bear.

Grandpa did get sicker and sicker. I would go and see him, and he’d try to smile and be his old self, but he was just too weak. I was careful not to cry because I didn’t want to let him see me that way. Now I look back and think that maybe I SHOULD have let him know just how much I was going to miss him. As usual, I kept my emotions inside until I was alone. It makes me sad to think that I wasn’t there enough for him in the weeks before he died. I guess at 13, I was just scared and didn’t know what to do. A kid at 13 back in 1974 didn’t have the exposure to real life that kids do now. I felt very helpless and depressed because I wanted to help but always felt like I was just in the way.

When Grandpa died, it shattered my world. He was the person to whom I was closest in my young years, and he was gone. I was devastated. My mother tried to explain to me that “This is just Grandpa’s empty shell. He’s in Heaven now.” I was told that I shouldn’t cry too much, though, because I’d upset my grandmother.

Some people think that kids don’t feel grief like adults feel it. They are kind of lost in the shuffle. But I was suffering with an extreme amount of grief. I cried myself to sleep quite often after he was gone.

My life changed when he died.

I visit his grave every year at Christmas time. Grandpa Haircut loved Christmas. One of my favorite pictures is an old black and white one of him coming over on Christmas wearing a Santa hat.

It makes me very sad that I didn’t have Grandpa with me during the most difficult years of my young life…adolescence. I often went to him when I was troubled, especially when I was afraid to tell my parents, or when other adults didn’t want to listen. To this day, when I need someone to talk to, I’ll sometimes sit and talk to Grandpa Haircut. Sometimes I’ll just tell him about my day or about something special that has happened.

I know he hears me.

He was a very special man. And a very special Grandpa.