Adventures With Grandad

My Grammy had a saying, "What's mine is mine, what's ours is mine, and what's yours... is mine too." Not that she was greedy, she earned it the hard way.

Grandad was a traveling adventurer, always with Grammy in tow. Grammy had more intestinal fortitude than any old lady I knew. Her health was never good; she had osteoporosis so badly that when she picked up my brother when he was about a month old, she broke two ribs and her wrist. For my whole childhood, the mantra was, "Don't hug your Grammy!" Despite this, she went everyplace with Grandad.

One of his favorite places was Mexico. He never spoke a word of Spanish, he figured speaking loudly would solve any language difficulties. He never used a map, he just went where the mood moved him. I wish I had any of the several photos of his stranded car. They were usually taken when he had been traveling on dirt roads and managed to sink his car, axle deep, in soft dirt or a creek. The locals always came to his rescue, hitched up their horses or mules and hauled the car out. Then Grandad dispensed the largess (American dollars) while Grammy took pictures of all their new found friends and the horses hitched to the car.

Grandad was fascinated with everything, especially large natural phenomena. When I was in junior high, my Mom received a letter from Grammy relating this story:

Grandad had heard that there was a volcano erupting near where they were traveling. That, he had to see. So off they drove in the general direction, following the plume of smoke. When the road ran out, Grandad just kept on driving.

They saw a man from a good distance, as he stood watching them drive up to him. When they got close he deliberately stepped right in front of their car. Grandad stopped and leaned out the window.

"Señor, you cannot drive this way, it is not safe."

Grandad had lucked out and come across a man who spoke English. Raul explained that Grandad was, fortunately, driving on the only solid path in a sea of shifting volcanic ash.

Seeing his opportunity, Grandad asked Raul if, for generous monetary compensation, he would guide him on a walking tour to the top of the volcano so that he could look into the caldera. Raul agreed and they set off together for the smoking mountain. Grammy waited in the car.

About four hours later, sure that she would never see her husband again and would probably die out in the scorched waste, she was writing a farewell letter to my Mom, her tears splatting on the paper. Her normally copperplate handwriting was abruptly interrupted by a large smear and a hole in the paper. When the narrative resumed, she said that another Mexican had tapped on the window, startling her, saying, "Don't cry, Lady, is okay. Your husband back soon."

Sure enough, Grandad came back with his new best buddy, Raul. Grammy and Grandad went into Raul's village for the night and were treated to a grand fiesta. Grandad went back there every time he went to Mexico after that, and he put several of the village children through college. My grandparents were well loved in Mexico.

Grandad didn't believe in hotel reservations either. They stopped when they found someplace that looked okay -- which occasionally resulted in sharing quarters with bedbugs.

One evening, Grandad was getting hungry as they drove through a tiny town which, like all tiny towns, had a bar on the corner. Having no fear of Montezuma's Revenge, Grandad decided to stop for dinner. He parked the car outside and he and Grammy walked on in. Half a dozen rough and burly looking men turned from their cerveza and tequila and stared at them.

Grandad tried his usual understanding through volume communication. The fellows at the bar did not seem to appreciate his efforts. One by one, they stood, until all of them were on their feet facing my grandparents. The biggest and ugliest man snarled and took a step towards the elderly couple. Grammy clutched Grandad's arm, "Let's go, Armstrong," she pleaded.

Grandad might have been adventurous, but he was not stupid. They backed towards the door. The burly guys followed them, joking in Spanish and making threatening gestures. When Grammy and Grandad reached to door, the men jumped forward. Grandad calmly reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and threw it as far into the bar as he could.

As the six aggressors dove for the wallet, my grandparents hustled on out of there, got into the car and drove off into the sunset.

Nope, my Grammy wasn't greedy. She earned it

The Best Easter Vacation Ever

When I was five, I went to Florida to visit my Grandparents and Great Aunts at Easter. Grandaddy was the coolest companion a kid ever had. He took me places and led me into adventures. Grammy often didn't appreciate our shenanigans. We always knew we'd stepped over the line when we heard her call, "Arm-strong!" We were in trouble then.

We found a baby blue jay that had fallen from the nest and rescued it. Grammy was tipped off by the hysterical screaming of the parent jays as they chased us to the house, pecking holes in Grandad's bald head.

"Arm-strong!"

Grandad had to brave the parents again to return the fledgling to where we found it. They knocked off the hat he'd slapped onto his head before he was halfway there. By the time he was back inside his whole head was red and splotchy with blood and peck marks. He let me wash it off for him and put Bactine on it.

I was always accused of being "a dreadful wiggle worm", a charge that I denied. Grandad bet me my Easter basket that I couldn't sit still for three whole minutes. I think I could have done it if he hadn't tickled me. Nothing had been said about tickling though, so I surrendered my Easter basket. Grammy came into the room and saw Grandad munching on my chocolate bunny as I watched with tragic eyes.

"Arm-strong!"

I got my Easter basket back. Along with a lecture about gambling.

We were out in the garden one day when a big hail storm blew up, so we ran into the shed and watched the huge white ice rocks pelt the ground. I remembered the old sauce pan he mixed his chemicals in -- the perfect helmet. I clapped it over my head and asked if I could go out and collect some hail stones. Of course he said yes, so out I ran. That lasted all of about 10 seconds before I got hit on the foot and changed my mind. We didn't tell Grammy about that.

Sometimes she found out even if we swore secrecy, though. Like the time he took me pony riding. We went out to the farm and he slung me up on the back of a pony with no saddle or bridle and popped the pony on the butt. It took off and the rest of the herd galloped with us. We ran like the wind! I turned around to watch the pony herd following us and didn't see the low branch we ran under.

Whack! Flat on my back on the ground.

The ponies tried to split and run around me, but one of them wasn't able to. It stepped right in the middle of my chest. Left a great big hoof print.

Grandad and I both knew there would be trouble if Grammy found out, We pricked our fingers with pine needles and took an oath of secrecy. Unfortunately, Grammy had no respect for a five-year-old's privacy and walked in on me in the bathtub that night.

"Arm-strong!"

Mostly we got Arm-strong'ed for relatively little things like pulling the tails off chameleons when trying to catch them. Whenever one of us did that, we'd be told by our partner in crime, "I'm gunna tell Grammy on you." Our blackmail lists were longer than our memories.

Once I tried to pat a live alligator. It wasn't the biggest alligator at Gator World, it was probably only six or seven feet long. Grammy heard him laughing at me climbing over the wire fence to get at the big lumpy fang-face. She turned around just as my feet hit the ground on the gator side of the fence. The gator saw me too and smiled real big.

"Arm-strong!"

Grandad leaned over the fence, grabbed me by one arm and hoisted me out as the alligator came running over to get his pat. Then I had to go sit in the car for a long time while Grammy and Grandad had "An Adult Conversation."

Fortunately that was the last day before I flew home to Michigan because it put a bit of a damper on the fun.

Grandad let me know we were still partners, though. About two weeks after I got back home, there was a box on the front porch after school. It was a baby alligator. A real baby alligator.


I had the coolest Grandad in the history of the world.