Age is no excuse for being mean

"Hey grandpa! How are you today?"

Grandpa showed up at the store at a busy time. Dad and I were busy with customers, a pop delivery and a small wares salesman waiting for an order. Dad was handling the pop delivery and cash register. Having just finished helping a customer, I was about to attend to the salesman.

"Just fine until I saw you." No smile played around his lips. Did I hear that right? Yeah, I did.

Responding casually, as if inquiring about the weather, "Well, to hell with you" turning my attention to the startled salesman. I'm not sure I said hello to my uncle following grandpa inside. For all my outward calm, hurt and fury stirred inside.

Those few seconds took me by surprise. I rarely saw grandpa as a young adult. As a child, courtesy and respect, no matter what he said. As an elder, no backtalk allowed.

When we visited the grandparents, we always did our best to avoid doing anything to set him off. The smallest infraction and he would be quick to chastise. If mother knew he reprimanded one of us, it meant hearing from her later for our unacceptable behaviour.

His nonchalant manner of publicly cutting his granddaughter down sparked new courage in me to take a stand and send the message I could return his cruelty with my own. Not my proudest moment. Impulse rarely is.

My inner thought train was mulling over what I had just done as the salesman, and I discussed our order. Grandpa would complain to the parents. I wasn't too concerned about dad's response. I dreaded mother's response.

I'd noticed dad's relationship with grandpa was always distant. They'd talk like two strangers chatting over coffee more than father and son. I never recall hearing grandpa ask anything about what dad was doing or his family. He seemed quite content with treating his son like a casual friend he was mostly disinterested in.

Grandpa was a very healthy ninety-year-old. He took delight in proving his strength by putting your hand in a death grip if you shook hands with him. He also was still selling Rawleigh's products. They carried a range of items like pie mixes, extracts, spices, personal care items like ointments and liniments. Quality products, with a dedicated customer base. I remember the inventory room in the basement. We could look, but not touch. My uncle had driven him out to the area to deliver products to his customers.

When the busy spell eased, dad went into the living quarters to visit with grandpa and my uncle. It delighted me to mind the store rather than have another encounter with grandpa. After they left, dad came out to relieve me for lunch that I'd missed. If he knew what had occurred, he wasn't saying anything.

Mother was sitting in the kitchen. I felt tension in the air. Unsure if the tension was hers or mine. After a few minutes of tense silence, I addressed the elephant in the room. Her response would decide if I was going to make lunch or flee.

"So… did grandpa share his greeting with you?" Her lips tightened. I tensed. Her tight lips were never a good sign.

"OH, yeah. He barely got through the door before he started telling me you told him to go to hell." Her voice carried irritation, but not anger. I cautiously relaxed slightly.

"Did he say why?"

"He claimed he was kidding with you and you took it wrong."

"Well, the total absence of a smile and his stance didn't exactly give me a hint." I defended myself, expecting the hammer to fall.

"I told him to take it up with you. You're an adult and not about to tolerate insults from anyone." I had to clench my jaw to stop it from dropping. Was this my mother defending me, breaking the respect at all costs rule?

Nice adulting perk, not having to put up with snarky elders. The perk would not apply to mother nor a mistake of speaking boldly to her. My memory of watching my elder brother telling mother to go to hell when they were arguing over something was vivid. Her lightning-fast hand shot across his face as he towered over her.

Yeah, I took the win on this day and made my lunch.

It would be many years later before I shed light on the father-son relationship. By then, grandpa had died, and I'd been visiting grandma as often as I could. At one hundred years old, grandma was still sharp as a tack. During one visit she told me dad and my grandfather often clashed.

"I often told him that boy would be big enough to hit back one day," she said, without further explanation. Seems dad put some mental distance between them instead.

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Shadowspub is a writer from Ontario, Canada. She writes on a variety of subjects as she pursues her passion for learning. She also writes on other platforms.

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