Grandma and Grandpa - I Miss You :: Personal Narrative Profile

I miss you grandad   I dream up spending summers in Kansas with Grandpa. I grew up in the suburbs - spending summers in Kansas was a bit of culture shock.   I remember waking up early and sitting around the kitchen table and audition while Grandpa and my mom sipped coffee and talked. The Hutch paper was etern totallyy spread across the table, and inevitably, the conversation would turn to me.   He probably fails all his classes, dont he? Grandpa would ask. A slow smile would spread across his aging face as his gaze shifted from my mom to me. I dont hold so, Grandpa, Id respond, partially knowing he was joking, and partially wanting to prove myself. then hed lean back in his chair and look up at the ceiling. No, youre a good gull. Youre a good kid. Hed say quietly. Hed comment on a story Id written, the one well-nigh spies and a nuclear source plant in Libya. I was in fourth grade at the time. That was a good story you wrote. You got that from your great-great-g randfathers associate... Hed go on telling me about my distant relative the author, and how thats where my writing came from.   subsequent in the morning Id wax into the rusty pickup with Grandpa and the sandy colored dog, Cherie. Wed drive the tush mile through Raymond to the tiny post office to set up the mail, Grandpas callused progress to hanging out the window. Sometimes Id wait in the truck, watching farmers drive and go through town, wondering why it took so long to get the mail. Sometimes I followed Grandpa in.   Hi Les, the woman behind the heel counter would say as we walked in. Whos the handsome young man? Who, him? That ugly kid? Hell, I dunno, Grandpa would respond, rubbing his chin and looking at me. Oh, Les, the woman said. Hes my grandson. Kerrys boy? shed ask. Yep. I could tell, he looks a lot like him. Yeah, him and his brother are visitin from De-troit. I gotta entertain the little turds for a couple of weeks. That was Grandpa.   Later wed end up at Ikes Windmill and Farm Supply. Grandpa would absorb more coffee, smoke a Marlboro, and joke with Geno and Ike, and whoever happened to come through the door.   I remember trips to the Fish Gas Station, when Grandpa would treat my brother and I to a candy bar and a pop.