STORY
My Grandpa
Grandpa was an ornery old cuss. At least, that’s what Grandma always said.
As a wild child trying my hardest to stay in Grandpa’s shadow, I thought he was my superhero!
In my child’s mind, there wasn’t anything my grandpa couldn’t do, and he was bigger than life.
I never remember a day when he wasn’t turned out in his cowboy hat, tall boots, jeans, belt and buckle, a long-sleeved western shirt, and wild rag around his neck; heaven forbid, if you called it a bandana.
Grandpa was tanned from workin’ in the weather from sun up to sun down, six days a week. That man had calluses on his big hands that would choke a full-grown mule!
He woke before the chickens and ate his fried eggs over easy, bacon, and biscuits every morning with half a pot of black coffee. He fed every animal, made sure they were healthy and cared for, then he tended his fields and was home for his dinner, which was lunch.
He usually ate a steak or two, his favorite mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, greens or pintos, and cornbread. Sometimes he’d have seconds and a good half gallon of sweet iced tea. Then, it was back to work until Supper time, the evening meal.
