Grandpa & Me

During summers when I was little, my grandpa would stop by around noon to take his "dinner" break at our kitchen table. He'd park his truck in our drive-way and take off his boots and his cap as soon as he walked in, his arrival signaling it was time to eat. Sitting beside him, my feet dangled from the dinning room chair as I ate whatever grandpa ate (but in pieces my mom had cut up for me). After 'dinner,' grandpa would make his way to the La-Z-boy recliner in our living room where he would prop his feet up and turn on a Western to listen to while he snoozed. With my grandpa's head reclined and his thick silver locks perfectly accessible to me, I'd gather my hair accessories and a chair to reach, if I needed it. My clumsy fingers would comb his hair forward and backward, practicing making a perfect part. I'd use barrettes and hair ties and bows, attempting to braid and curl with my little fingers. Eventually the Western would end, the credits would start to roll, and my grandpa would have to go back to work. He'd walk over to the door, first putting on his boots but before putting his cap, would look in the mirror with a convincingly perplexed look, and say to me "What happened to my hair!?" I'd giggle, fully convinced that this was truly a surprise to him, and then he'd bend over so I could take out the hair accessories and put them back with the others. He'd put his cap back on, give me a smile, and head back to work, until the next day when he would come back again to see John Wayne and this little girl.