I always loved my grandfather’s house. It was always a place where, a funky kid like me could be themselves. My favorite room, was my grandfather’s office room, you could see pieces of him there. He is a lot like me. He always had books of all kinds everywhere, I suppose being a librarian will do that to you. You could see random bookmarks in pages he had particularly enjoyed reading. His office also had pictures on the walls of the Beatles, high art, and cats. My grandfather’s house was one of few places, I never felt anxious at. I loved their mountain home and lifestyle. Their Georgia home always made me wish I lived there.
In many ways, I suppose I was jealous of my siblings being able to live in such a great place but… I also appreciate they had somewhere to go. I never had the same fears there as I did everywhere else I had been, I was always at peace. I suspect that, my grandfather knew me in a different way than everyone else. He understood me. Creative and thinking minds are never far apart, the deep conversation and we’ll of information draw them together. Part of me will forever miss their home. Soon, and very soon however, I will be able to have my own.
And when I have my own,
I hope my grandkids can write their feelings about their grandparents home the way I do.
I will always love,
My Grandfather’s House.