My grandparents were very poor. My dad was ashamed & created dumb tension about it. My grandma though always took me aside to give me a chocolate orange after Xmas gifts were unwrapped; she’d make me crack it and eat a slice before going back to Xmas fun.

Did their poverty matter? No! Everything was out of love. My grandpa made us things from his workshop. One year he said, “We try” and 14 yo me said laughing “I know”. Gramps gave me a 1 arm hug & slapped my back with a grin. That did not go over well with dad.

He chewed me out for making them know I knew or something gay like that. My grandparents didn’t have hot water. They knew I knew. They were why I tried hard at college. My grandma came to my campus only once and gave me the “ya done gud, anon” line when she left.

Once I graduated & had a job, I got a case of Sam Adams for Xmas day with my grandpa because I wanted to drink with him when he went out for his Xmas cigar. My treat. I felt like an adult not just his grandson. We talked for an hour in his workshop with the space heater on.

Close my eyes: I can see the Adrienne Barbeau poster, the 10 hand planes on the wall & cigar boxes holding screws, nuts & nails. We started real talks then; he told me his war stories & life before grandma. We had more in common than I thought. I later named a son after him