Happy Birthday, Grandpa!
I remember singing to Grandpa at his 75th birthday party. I sang this song in Spanish about family and grandchildren that I wrote for a children’s musical several years ago. Grandpa was the inspiration for it. So singing it to him that day was supposed to be this kind of tribute to him. But as I was singing, the words unexpectedly reminded me that I have far fewer years left with him than I ever dared to think about and I got instantly all choked up.
This was not like a little waver of the voice. My throat closed up and I couldn’t sing. I exploded into a weird sob. I was helpless, so I put the guitar down, walked over to kneel by his chair and hugged him. He patted my head. I knelt there for at least a minute just weeping. LIKE HE WAS DYING RIGHT THEN AND THERE. And I couldn’t TELL him why I was crying because that would be… more awkward. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I just realized how OLD you are and that you could die any day now despite your great health.”
To any observer, I was singing a plucky little song about family when I burst into tears for no apparent reason and fell to my knees in a pool of cry at my grandpa’s feet. Eventually, I managed to pull it together. Then, for some reason, it seemed like the only thing to do at that point was to get back to the song, which I did. It was all very clumsy and quite strange.
I was so caught up in the emotional ambush of it all, that I didn’t realize: NO ONE SAID A WORD about it. Not at the time, and not since. Now, my family are usually not the kind to let a bizarre moment go by with absolutely no comment, no giggle, no snort, no nothing. Why was there no reaction from them on this nutball occasion of mine? Was it because they knew exactly where I was coming from, or because they were so horribly embarrassed for me?
I keep meaning to ask them.
