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my memére and pepére...
*04.02.03* @ *1:01 a.m.*
the women in my family have stood by their men, and not that i find fault with this fundamentally, but i do find fault in their choosing of the men they stand by.
as much as i loved my great-grandfather, i now sense that he probably had a mean streak in him when he was younger. one that probably resonated when he drank.
him and i got along quite well. i am told that i was the only grandchild that he actually enjoyed. [funny because he's really my stepdad's grandfather, and i didn't meet him until i was ten.]
anyhow, when my great-grandfather died, there was a lot of funny stories that were told at the wake and funeral. stories that always ended with a shaking of the head and an "ohhhh, that pepére..."
when he died, his right eye was slightly open and a shit-eating grin was plastered to his face, and it was still stuck that way at the funeral. that pale blue eye made the think that he was capable of sitting up and asking for some dewar's while laughing about how good he had gotten us.
but when they lowered him into the ground, my great grandmother simply said, "well, maybe now i'll be able to go to the opera..."
i remember being shocked that she had let him stand in her way of doing that.
she died two months later without ever attending an opera.