I haven't seen any of my grandparents since they all died in The Great Die Off of 94-95 when, if you're not quick enough to compute, all my grandparents, being totally alive and meaty at the beginning of 94 turned all dead and ghosty by the end of 95.
Hence the need for time travel.
I think it was 1965ish, two years before I was born. It wasn't confusing for anyone in the past having me there because, since time travel has been around for so long, the past is now fully aware of the future.
Don't make me get out the charts and graphs.
Point is, I never knew my grandfather was half indian, not that it's hard to believe, he was olive complected, had sharp features, when he was younger he had jet black hair and his name was Floyd, which is way WAY PoonJob. I always suspected he was polynesian with all those winter trips in Hawaii and all, but nope, Gramplestiltskin was one half Boojie. One would think this would be something someone might've told me much earlier in life. Should it really be necessary for me to travel back in time and hang out with dear old Grampa to get very basic details about my own fucking heritage?
Although I'm not complaining, I think time travel is tits.
Anyway, I'm not a kid anymore, I just turned 40, Grampa was looking an old fashioned 50ish and dare I say, not looking his very best, he definitely improved with age. He wasn't wearing his glass eye, which was shocking because I didn't even know he had one in the first place. I knew he had false teeth, but the fake eye was a new one. I didn't interrogate him about why he never told me he was half blind or indian or how he managed to hide both those things from me for all those years, I wanted to ask, but his vulnerable posture, standing off in the corner, avoiding direct interaction, smiling nervously, shifting from one foot to the other with a little hand wringing, totally melted my guts and all I wanted to do was tell jokes with him, hear him laugh, hold his hand and inhale his woody, musty, essence of Grampa fragrance that made Christmas complete.
My mom was obviously time traveling too cuz she had a digital camera she had no idea how to use. She was bugging atomic bomb style.
Although smiling as always, I could feel Grampa's hesitance about holding my elbow as I lead him around. I did my best to make him feel comfortable til we could get back to the house so he could put his eye back in.
"Mom, you're holding it upside down and backwards, you're looking through the lens, It's like a regular camera for cripes sake. The button is where it always is."
I sat in the front seat with Grampa and he told me stories about his days as a butcher while my step brother and half brother were ball busting each other in the back seat. They never got along like chums, so it was fresh to see them bantering like good pals. Grampa's tone was different, something had either changed or not yet occurred, he wasn't trying to fuck with my brain like he used to, trying to trick me with word play or convince me he was a professional wrestler, he didn't once tell me not to hurt his wooden leg or convince me I could take out my teeth too if I would just be a little more patient with my method. Grampa wasn't testing my smarts anymore, in fact, there might be an asshole or two who might even say he was acting as though he thought I was smarter than him, like he was trying to keep up, almost like he was ashamed, but like I said, only an asshole would say that, Grampa will always be the funniest and smartest so shut up or I'll body slam every last one of you glass half empties.
So there you go, I guess I'm a quarter indian now, which finally explains the latent curry odor when I don't shower for months.
I think the reason why experts say we should limit retro time travel is because time has a way of turning our good times into great times, our bad times into jokes, our heros into super heros, and our anecdotes into epic tales. Time is wonderful marinade. On the other hand, retro time travel is like sitting in a snow storm under a banana tree with a cow and a bag of sugar and calling it a banana split, all the ingredients are there, but the magic trick book is open begging you to get all technical as the joy disappears.
"Nice picture of your ear mom."
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