Many years ago, when i was just six months old i spent most my days in the arms of my grandfather. At fifty-five years old, he was a stout man with a honorable handshake and loving smile. Every morning he would call my mother and ask her to bring me over; he would hold me and rock me and sing Greek lullabies to me. Diapers... that was my grandmothers job, which she then put to my godmother.
As i look back now at old photo's and ancient home video's from the 80's i cry, i cry because my grandfather is gone, he died in 1985. He didn't hold me when i hid from my father; he didn't teach me to roast the Easter lamb, he didn't see me graduate high school and he didn't kiss me goodnight when the closet monsters hunted me. Then again if he hadn't passed away, i most likely wouldn't be the man i am now. I'd be Better.
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