Grandpa's picture

Horseradish

By Michael Sitzman, Columnist

"So say goodbye; it's Independence Day
It's Independence Day; little boys must run away.
And just say goodbye; it's Independence Day
All men must make their way, come Independence Day."

-- Bruce Springsteen


I. Through Memory's Haze

In Mr. Arnold's kindergarten art class we created pictures one day with a new technique. We drew in crayon, then painted over it in solid color. The paint covered the bare spots but ran off the crayon's marks so the drawing showed through -- a beautiful effect. I painted a house with an evergreen tree and clouds, in a child's typical style, and chose a deep, bright blue to cover it. I liked my picture. My mom did too. She often displayed my schoolwork on the kitchen icebox. Not this one...

"I want you to give it to Grandpa Robbie." I never knew why she chose that particular picture or made me give it to him. I protested, but it was no use. Sure, I loved my grandfather. But I was five, and, well, I still didn't understand sharing.

Having given up my picture, I had to have a new one. So I made another, this time with orange paint. It wasn't the same. Like the lesson in sharing, it would also take years to learn that something, or someone, of value cannot be replaced.

Grandpa died seven years ago.


II. Long, Hot Summer

"Hi, it's Michael! ... Fine, and you? Is Dad there? Hi! ... Oh, not much this week; same old job-search. Anyway, I called to say I just received your gifts, and to say thanks so much. Things have been bad lately, and that brightened up the day. ... Whoa, Mom, wait; I didn't know it was a watch! My fault. I said I got the gifts, but I didn't say I'd opened them; I was planning to wait until my birthday ... No problem, it's all good. But since you've told me, I'll open it now. (As for the other, I think I'll wait 'til my birthday.) I'll get it; be right back..."

"Hi, I'm back. Trying to open it, but Qimmeq's jumping on me; thinks it's for him. Here, Qimmeq, chew on the wrapping. ... Whoa, it's beautiful! What a nice-looking watch; thank-you so much! ... What? Oh yeah, that: Well, it's been a rough day. Usual blues, you know. ... Yes, for the last few days, I guess; just comes and goes. Hey, how would you feel if you were me? Nine months unemployed and no prospects here in Washington. The future wasn't supposed to be like this; I'm, like, not the man I hoped I'd be. ... Heck, I'll pull through, no worries. ... The rest of the day? Don't know; honestly, I'm still not dressed. Takes all my energy just to get out of bed sometimes, and once I'm ready, I just want to lie down again. ... I know you're worried, but it's all good; I'll just keep looking for work. Man, what a year. Hey, gotta go. ... O.K., I love you too. Miss you! Thanks again for the wonderful watch! ... OK, you too. Bye."


III. 29 June

"Qimmeq, get down! Chew on the giftwrap; let me open it. Silly-- Oh my God. My God, no way. I can't believe it..."


IV. The Circle Be Unbroken

"Hello? ... Hi! ... (Sweet! They're singing you-know-what; Qimmeq, listen! Hey, get down. NO! Qimmeq! Stop! Crazy dog.) ... Oh, thank-you! That was nice. Guess what: I put the phone to Qimmeq's ear and he got all excited; understands Happy Birthday by the tune! Now he thinks he's getting a bone. ... Did I what? ... Yes, I opened that one this morning; it was hard waiting three weeks! What a wonderful surprise! Never knew you'd kept it. ... Yes, I love it! ... Haven't decided where, but I can always find a place to hang a picture. And the blue frame matches the paint! It will always remind me of Grandpa. What can I say? Thank you so much. ... Where? OK, then I'll let you get ready. Enjoy the show; thanks for calling. Say, I'm feeling better lately ... Love you too. Bye."


V. Regret

The 4th of July fell five days after my birthday. It does every year. With each year, my country gets older and so do I. Independence, for a man or for a nation, demands sacrifice. Some freedom is gained, but responsibility is likewise. To a child, life is timeless and, though not as pleasant as we like to think, has that simplicity of a paint-and-crayon world. To a man, time is a demon heard in the ticking of his stylish watch that counts the days before the bill is due or the remaining unemployment checks.

What becomes of the heart's landscape? Where does hope itself go? Somewhere, between the picture and the watch, a boy grows up, and that child's sweet, painted world fades to distant dream, hanging on a wall in an apartment for which the rent must be paid by the first of the month. Behind glass, it lingers there, just visible, ever-dimming through memory's haze, while the grown man's watch marks time's profane and relentless passage.

I have my picture back now. I'd rather have Grandpa -- and the way things used to be.

horseradish

Copyright © 2007 – 2008 The Brandeis Hoot
Powered by PROPS