GRANDAD WAS I never had my heart stolen by anyone so grand as when I was three and discovered my sweet granddad. My memories only go back to when I was three. That was my first real memory that to this day I can see. Mama said my granddad gave me my name when I was born. She had another name picked out and she was kind of torn, but she remembered the wife that granddad had lost in death as a young wife. He had to raise the children after her death and it completely changed their life. So Mom decided to let him have his way, and Grandad gave me the name I have to this day. In my memory at three, I was wearing a polka-dot dress, looking up at him, my head on his shoulder would rest. I remember looking into his sparkling eyes. They were a bright blue just like the sky. My granddad was a special man. His influence on me strong would always stand. In some nine short years, he came to be my daily sidekick next to me. He lived next to our fence line just down the road. Grandad was retired from working on the railroad. His garden stretched as far as your eyes could see. He used old Bill, a plow horse, to till the ground and plant seeds. In his garden from sunup to sundown is where my granddad could always be found. Everything I learned about the land was from watching Grandad as he used his big hands. There wasn’t a flower’s name he didn’t know. He could even make a sickly plant grow. The days and weeks turned into months and years, but when I was nine I experienced my worst fear. Grandad was tilling one day in the field when he just slumped over. I experienced cold chills. I didn’t understand the look on Daddy’s face, it was one of gloom, until the day they brought him from the hospital and put him in his room. He was only there for just a little while. I didn’t get to see him, but Mom said he died with a smile. I don’t remember much after that except that I would cry every time I saw Daddy wear his old hat. I started visiting my favorite place in the woods. I sat and thought about how things used to be good. I was staring at a bird in the corner — that’s the first time when I first saw him standing by the orchard gate. He was very plain and thin. I hesitated for a moment, got a little closer and I could see it was a bucket turned upside down on a post in front of me. It was someone’s target practice, no more a useful prize. The holes they made in the tin bucket looked like two big eyes. The dent in the middle looked like a nose a little bit. Turned upside down hanging there, the handle made it fit. It was just an old rusty bucket on an old fence post, but it wasn’t my granddad and that’s
