We got lots of cool things in the mail from him, including catalogs from head shops. My mom complained but he said he thought "Amy would like the colorful pictures." I did! He drove a candy apple red Stingray. Looked like a little hot corvette parked outside our house. When he visited I looked out the window at it. A whole lot. And I was only 7 or 8. What's wrong with me? Ever since a child I've had a thing for fast cars. Like a guy.
Grampa was a pilot in WW2, flew bombers. Got shot down, did some time in a prison camp. He took the time to write his experiences down, which I took and posted in a condensed form, in a blog, a few months ago. Like an idiot, I deleted it, like everything else I've written. He ended up with emphisemia (sp?) in the late 80's, and by the mid-90's he was on oxygen. Couldn't kick the smokes. I loved him.
One day he just put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. My mom had to fly out there to Reno & clean it all up.
He never did believe in God. I miss him. He was the only man in my family that gave me the time of day, as in, I could tell that he really enjoyed it. I had fun uncles, but that doesn't count. You need a grandfather who treats you special. I've seen his childhood pics, and we look identical. When I pull my hair back, I look exactly the same as he, when he was a boy. My mom says I'm "all Jones" and I take that as a compliment. Goodbye, Grampa. I never did kick my teacher in the shins.
