The time I killed my grandfather

My Grandfather was always quiet. He almost never spoke. The only time he really spoke to me was in the bathtub. I wrote a poem about it.

Leonard
“I see men who look like you.
They somehow have your pointy ears.
I can see them in your sailor clothing, 1943.

You'd be thrilled I neglected to tell
my father of your death.
You'd be consoled to know I kept your
memory intact by not going to your funeral.

My mother called you the silent man,
but you had plenty to say to me.
You conversed freely when you were in the tub
with your penis protruding through the clear water,
and your wet dark body hair covering everywhere
but the top of your head.

I was called into the bathroom by you.
I tried not to stare at your nudity
exhibited for me to view.
I always wondered why you would only talk to me
when you were in the tub.

I've heard that men inherit the body hair traits
of their maternal grandfathers
Will I also be inheriting
your little perversions as well?”


After I showed this poem to my mother, she said, “I didn’t think you were this deep.” and “He did that to you too?” Her reaction was kind of a double insult. If he did that to her (and she always implied that he did some worse things to her), why did she allow me to be alone with him? Why did he only talk when he was in the bathtub with an erection?

The first time I visited Las Vegas after my grandparents moved there, he took me for a ride down the Las Vegas strip. It was daytime, but all the Vegas lights were on. The whole time we drove, he pointed out all the palm trees by saying “There’s a tree. Oh, there’s a tree.” He never pointed out any of the casinos or the lights or any of the interesting things on the Las Vegas strip.

As we were driving, the front window started fogging up. He took a white t-shirt he had in the backseat and started clearing the foggy window and did this every time the window fogged up. I showed him that he could use the defogger on the car and he was amazed. He didn’t know that the defogger existed. He had just been using the shirt.

I killed my grandfather. Well, kind of. When I was working for a horrible home shopping company (the initials are similar to QVC; ok it was QVC) as an order entry person, I wanted a few days off. I told my supervisor (who was a grown woman with braces and a lot of barrettes in her hair) that my grandfather died and I had to go to the funeral. She told me that I would need to bring proof of the funeral from the minister.

This led to a whole other discussion where I explained I was Jewish and what a rabbi was. She seemed to have never heard of a one before. She told me in order to be excused from work, I’d need a rabbi’s signature. Since I didn’t know how’d I get a rabbi’s signature, I told her that it wasn’t that important and that I just wouldn’t go to his funeral.

I didn’t get the days off and a few weeks later my grandfather, who wasn’t that old and who wasn’t even sick, died. I can’t remember what he died of, other than me saying he died. This happens a lot when I pretend to be sick to get out of work. I always actually get sick when I pretend.

After “killing” grandpa, I never pretend that a real person died just to get out of work, unless I was really mad at someone. Grandpa’s the only person I’ve ever killed (yet).

After my grandfather’s funeral (which actually I didn’t go to), my grandma called me up and told me that since Grandpa died first, when she dies, she would be buried on top of him. She told me she had never been on top before.

Today’s song is “Grandma’s Hands” by Barbra Streisand. I know many hate Barbra, but in this forgotten song from 1974, she sings in a way I’ve never heard her sing, uncontrolled and very passionately. The album “Butterfly” which contains this song is really quite interesting and one of my favorite albums. I picked this song because if you read my entry and then listen to the song, it becomes kind of perverted, like my grandfather.

Barbra Streisand—Grandma’s Hands
http://www.zshare.net/audio/4430537e0072f5/

“What you want to spank him for?”