admittedly, blogs come in all shapes and sizes.
when “real-life” people find out that I have a blog, the first question that I’m invariably asked is, “what do you write about?“, to which I usually respond w/ a blank stare and some non-specific answer.
The reality of the situation is that finding something to write about is definitely the bottleneck of my online exhibitionism. With that in mind, I’m going to start stealing idea’s from erin’s page o’ prompts. in doing so, I promise not to over-think or over-edit my responses to her ideas, but rather reflect on the question at hand and just write.
“What is the best gift you’ve ever received? Why? What was the occassion? Do you still have it?”
Between my grandfather and I, there are cultural, religious and political divides. Specifically, my grandfather and I rarely connect on a level beyond our love for each other as family. We don’t speak each other’s language and dont understand how the other sees world. However, he’s my grandpa. He was the guy who used to take me on motorcycle rides, would fix the unfixable toys and tell me the funniest jokes. Today, we relate to each other through those happy memories.
A few years back, I caught a glimpse of that relationship again.
It was Thanksgiving evening and as was often the case, I found myself fixing computers, setting clocks on VCR’s and answering all sorts of technology questions. (This has since been augmented by questions regarding weird looking moles, changes in bowel movements and generalized aches when someone moves a certain way.) My grandparents computer was on the blink and I had their behemoth of a beige box opened up on the living room floor with its silicon guts spewed everywhere. As I swapped out one part for another, I kept dropping little screws in the case and clumsily fishing them out w/ my fat little fingers. Finally, I had the machine back up and running and had saved the day because solitaire was once again a viable option for passing the time.
When I returned a few weeks later to celebrate Christmas, I noticed that my grandpa kept looking over at me from his tattered maroon recliner. Maybe he had a joke for me? A pearl of wisdom from the good book? A story about the old country? As the afternoon became evening, my grandpa walked over my way, tapped me on the shoulder and in his hoarse and aged voice said:
“You remember when you were over here at Thanksgiving and fixin’ our computer? Well I noticed that you kept havin’ to fish out those screws everytime you dropped ‘em and I thought to myself, ‘Jeffrey needs a way to pick up them screws.’ So I went out to my shed a poked around and found these magnets.”
His hand disappeared into his shirt pocket and he proudly produced two dime-sized magnets. He continued:
“You see, son, if you take one of these magnets and rub it on the end of your screwdriver it will put the magnet power into the screwdriver and then you can just pick the screws up with magnetism. Now I’m not sure how that does that but if you rub a little of the magnet off on the screwdriver it will fix you up just right.”
With that, he dropped the magnets in my hand and returned to his chair before I could speak. I looked down into my hand and was immediately 4 years old again and amazed by want my grandpapa could do for me. Hurriedly I stood up and walked out the room before anyone could see the tears welling up in my eyes. Squeezing his neck I said “I love you” on the way out of the room.
Tonight those two silly little magnets sit safely amongst my most prized and valued possessions in the world. They are a symbol of who I am and where I come from and to this day are the dearest gift I’ve ever been given.
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