When Ian from Idiot’s Stew asked me to be part of his Turkey Palooza I knew I wanted to do it, but I didn’t really know what I was going to write about. I thought I would write about one of the many childhood thanksgivings I shared with my family, but as I began to write something totally different came out. When my entry was posted I didn’t expect the response that I got. Everyone was really positive and supportive about it, but the one question that people would email me or ask me in person most was if I ever forgave my grandfather for throwing us out of his house when we needed him most. My grandfather was a great man who had his faults, just like any other person. I think the post may have painted him out to be “the bad guy” but in reality he wasn’t - well not anymore than I was the bad grandson. We are just human, neither completely good nor completely bad, besides if he hadn’t done what he did I wouldn’t be the person I am today, so in a way, I feel that I should be thankful for the way things turned out.

I was actually thinking about my grandfather this morning and about all the good and happy memories I have of him; from sitting outside on the porch of my grandmother’s house listening to his various tales that were filled with magic and always involved relatives from the past and present, to helping him plant a garden that my grandmother would love until the day she died, to walking to the store with him and always getting gum, candy or some other treat that my mom was not too fond of me having before dinner. Of all the memories I have the best one is when we first moved to Vegas. I’ve told this story before so if you’ve heard it before, then I’m sorry.

There used to be this pizza place back home that I used to love. As a teenager, my friends and cousins were always hanging out there - it was our hangout. I’m sure it was the hangout to many teenagers, but that didn’t matter because no matter how many other people were there it was always “our place”. I not only went there with friends, I would go with my family too, especially when I was younger. My grandfather and I would go eat there almost every weekend - it was one of those things that I really looked forward to, not only for the company but because it was the best pizza in the whole entire world, well at least that’s what I used to think, but again, I was very young at the time and the planet didn‘t seem so big back then.

Every time we would go out to eat I’d want to go eat at this particular pizza place, even now when I go back home someone related to me will still take me to eat there, usually my cousin Mari - and you know, I still think it just may be the best pizza in the world. Soon after we moved to Vegas my grandfather came to visit. I was excited that he was coming because there were so many Vegas sights I wanted to show him and I wanted to hear his stories again before I got too old and stopped believing in the magic that was woven throughout the adventures he would spin. I remember waiting anxiously for his flight to arrive. At that time you could actually wait at the gate for flights to arrive and you could stand there with balloons and signs welcoming your loved ones. I stood watching as one person after another walked through the hallway into the waiting area and into the arms of loved ones. It seemed like forever before I saw my grandfather making his way down the corridor. I ran up to him and gave him a big hug. It had been years since he told us to leave his house and in the time that had passed that memory was pushed to that dark corner of your mind where you store the things you never forget but that you never really talk about either. At the time he waked off the plane he seemed like this tall, larger than life man who would always be there for me. I never felt that he wouldn’t nor did I know just how little time I had with him.

He gave me a big hug and then handed me a pizza box from the pizza place back home. It was early in the day so he had called the manager the day before and told him that he wanted to bring a pizza from Texas to Vegas for his grandson, the manager went in early and made the pizza before the place opened so my grandfather would be able to bring it to me. Thinking back on it now, it makes me smile and yet it makes my eyes fill with tears of sadness at the same time. We went home and we all enjoyed the pizza as my grandfather told us one last tale of how he met my grandmother and how they danced under the stars and he knew they were destined to be together since the day they were born.

While he was here in Vegas my grandfather got sick. One day my mom walked into the room he was staying and found him laying on the floor unconscious. They rushed him to the hospital where he stayed until the night he died.

I felt like that scared little kid who ran down the alley swinging my book bag as the dogs barked and jumped at me from behind fences while I ran home after school. I never wanted to go down that alley but I had to everyday. I hate hospitals and I never wanted to go to the hospital when he was sick, but I had to go everyday. I remember walking into the hospital room and watching as the machine did his breathing and feeling so sad and helpless. I wanted to lean over and whisper in his ear that I loved him and that I was sorry for lighting that firecracker under his chair while he took an afternoon nap on the porch when I was eight years old. I wanted to tell him that I forgave him for throwing us out that Thanksgiving eve with nothing but the clothes on our back. I didn’t know if he could hear me or not - a part of me thought that he couldn’t. Maybe he was already gone and he would hear nothing of what I said, but at the same time I really believed that I had more time with him. I thought that he was going to get better so I never told him what I wanted to say. I believed with all my heart that he was going to pull through and that one day we would all sit at the dinner table and I would tell him what he meant to me and how he shaped my life. It was with that thought that I left the hospital, planning that dinner in my mind. That night I got the call from my mom telling me that he had died - I never got to tell him that I loved him and that I never really stopped loving him even after he threw us out of his house. I never told him I was sorry for setting off that firecracker under his chair as he took an afternoon nap on the porch when I was eight years old. I never told him that I forgave him for throwing us out . I never said the things I wanted to say to him.

I’d like to think that deep down he knew these things, I just wish I had said them to him…