No Fool Like an April Fool - A

And today's not-so-random topic is:

April Fool's Day!

Being the youngest in a fairly sizable family, I don't think I need to explain the sheer volume of jokes at my expense, teasing, embarrassment and just general being made to feel stupid that made up a portion of my youth. So I'm going to step over the obvious association with the day for a more personal one to me.

April the first is my grandpa's birthday. He is a mythic creature of lore to me, the man who I've sort of deified. I never actually met him. He died literally a couple of weeks before I was born, but from a young age I've taken a distinct ownership of the kind of relationship we would have had. As an adult with a passion for family history, I've pieced together a slightly fuller picture of his life and what he was like. 

He worked hard and was damn good at his job, a professional baker. He once made a wedding cake for a grocery heiress' wedding that was flown across the country because they wanted his decorating skill. He wanted to be a somebody, a big shot, and was a member of the local men's social club & a Mason.

Loyal member & nifty hat wearer

He came from a broken home in the heart ghetto of Chicago, his mother and brother dying young and his father such a hardcore alcoholic he eventually died from withdrawal. He worked from at least the age of 7 and left school by the eighth grade. He enlisted in the military, possibly without a doubt to escape some less than savory gentlemen he had dealings with, and was about to get out just before the US entered WWII. 

He married only once, a woman I had a hard time calling Grandma and who was no mother to her only child, my father. I suspect the loss of Grandpa's mother may be the starting point of a generational trickle down of the members of my family marrying folks with... er... issues & in need of extra love. And patience. So frickin' much patience. According to my mother, granted not always the most reliable source, her father-in-law explained about his wife simply, "I love her" in response to how difficult a woman she was and why he stayed.

As a parent, well, he doesn't get a lot of points here, or I should say, there's precious little that stuck around in my father's mind. He was the product of a fractured family, married to a woman who wanted attention and worked hours that didn't match up with seeing his son often. He was also a veteran of war who didn't talk about what happened. At all. He didn't just not like guns, he found them abhorrent according to my dad. It's not that hard to think of a reason why. But he died when my dad was a young father, before they had a chance to reconnect and have any kind of a fulfilling adult to adult relationship. Before there was time for my dad to really understand him.

My dad's now several years older than my grandpa was when he died. The cancer that coursed through practically every part of his body was found early in my dad. He'd been in the process of dying for a while when my mom was pregnant with me. He told my mom that he knew I'd be a girl. Wishful thinking perhaps, but it was still a mostly wait and see situation regarding finding out the gender back then. Both my parents have steadfastly told me through the years that he would have spoiled me rotten and probably have earned the ire of his beloved wife without regret or hesitation for it. He was waiting for me, they've said.

So Happy 99th Birthday Grandpa.