Kicked in the Head- a tribute to Grandpa Vic

On a beautiful and sunny summer afternoon when I was 13 years old, my grandfather stopped by our house and found me inside.

On the couch.

In front of the television set.

I think I was watching 'Three's Company'.

For most of us, the severity of this situation requires no explanation, but for those of you not as familiar with my Grandfathers' idiosyncrasies, I cannot understate how irate he would become when confronted with laziness. As such, being the subject of his irritation could be quite intimidating.

I remember how he towered above me like a superhero perched on the back of a valiant horse on the verge of throwing a bolt of righteous rage down upon me.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?", He shouted in consternation. "IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY! You need to get out and ENJOY IT. When I was your age....!! Tomorrow you and I are going fishing. These days will pass you by fast, and you can't take them with you".

So just like that, for the rest of the summer, I spent almost every weekend getting up at 5 am. My Grandfather and I would drive out to McCloud Reservoir- and fish.

I remember while we were on the boat, how he would sit patiently and listen to my long winded soliloquies of my personal teenage soap-operas regarding God-knows-what. Undoubtedly bored out of his mind, he would offer advice in the form of an occasional grunt of disdain or nod of approval at select points of interest.

But there was one time, after I had given a lengthy and detailed synopsis regarding the finer points of the trials and tribulations of Jr. High dating, he unexpectedly looked up and said, "Kacy- guys like us, well sometimes we're just going to get kicked in the head by a horse." I remember thinking to myself, "Wow, that's pretty profound. Relationships, family and life in general can often be like a wild and untamed animal. Without showing the proper respect and delicacy they can rear-up and teach a painful lesson. I get it, yeah, I like that." I didn't say this to him, of course. I just continued to look down at my bobber and silently nodded my agreement.

It took me a little over a year to realize that while my Grandfather could effortlessly spin a yarn of comedic prose or hyperbole, he rarely spoke in metaphor. And what I mean by that is, about a year later, I actually stood witness to him physically getting kicked in the head- by a horse.

This got me thinking, "guys like us?"

How could he possibly include me in such an exclusive club that carries prerequisites of amazing acts of personal fortitude, demonstrations strength and resistance to pain such as I will never understand let alone employ? If I injured myself with a chainsaw like my grandfather once had, I'd cry like a little girl, soil myself and pass out. I certainly wouldn't remain conscious long enough to stitch up the gruesome wound myself. I mean, come on. This is a man who; using nothing more than some suture, a needle and a mirror, performed his own vasectomy.

"Guys like us"?

No.

My Grandfather stood alone. Without comparison or equal. A head and shoulders above the rest of us. But a result of the natural progression that follows in the wake of someone larger than life whom we admire and respect, I can't help but attempt to emulate him. His inevitable influence to this day, continues to guide me.

For my immediate and extended family, he was more than an iconic symbol of wisdom and strength. He was our protector. A constant reminder that most of the problems that we face in life can be overcome with nothing more than determination- well, that and duct tape. The infallible confidence that radiated from his person reached well beyond the lineages of his blood-bourn boundaries. Without an inch of exaggeration, he changed-for the better- thousands of lives.

With him gone I feel as if the last leaves of a strong tree have blown away in the wind, leaving the branches bare, and those of us below a bit more exposed to the world. Not unsafe, but vulnerable. It brings with it that equally disconcerting and reassuring feeling as one generation passes and the next comes to be, that life does go on.

He told me, 'you can't take it with you'. I realize now, that he wasn't talking to me but rather about me. About all of us and the experiences we share. Because ultimately, what we have to show for our time here- is one another.

No, you can't take it with you, but who would want to take it with us, when it's a greater privilege to leave it all behind.



Grandpa, your passing has taught me that even superheroes can die. But it's your life that I want to thank you for. You got me off the couch and took the time to teach me about relationships, family and life in general.

Wherever you are, I'm confidant you're still riding atop that valiant horse,

because I think it just kicked me in the head