There was a knock at the entrance of the kitchen.
“Knock, knock,” Grandpa said.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
“Annie,” Grandpa answered.
“Annie who?”
“Annie-thing you can do, I can do better,” Grandpa said in a singing voice.
“Anything you can do, I can do better,” we sang together.
We laughed. That was our little tune.
My grandpa was a towering figure with broad shoulders and bright, kind eyes—this made him popular with the ladies and unpopular with his wife. He had a great sense of humor. Despite his years, he looked great. He exercised every day and kept a good diet. He was the one who insisted I take care of myself. He was definitely a big influence in my life.
He always knew how to lift my spirits.
“Hey, baby girl. What are you up to?”
“Ha. I’ll tell you what she was up to,” my mother interjected. “She was complaining about eating the poor man’s diet.”
“What the hell is that?” I asked.
What the hell is Mom talking about?
“Rice and beans, silly. Rice and beans are good for you. They make you strong,” Grandpa said.
“Yeah, but they also make me fart a lot,” I shot back.
My mom rolled her eyes. My grandpa laughed, and I was simply tired of poverty.
“So you get a few more aromatic bubbles when you take a bubble bath,” he said.
“Grandpa, that’s nasty,” I replied.
“Yeah, but don’t tell me it’s not true,” Grandpa added.
I shook my head.
You and your sense of humor.
I cracked up.
“Oh, now you think it’s funny.”
We both laughed. Mom wasn’t having it. She dried the dishes and looked serious.
My grandpa looked around the kitchen. The cabinets were all busted up. The paint was peeling off.
“Are you thinking of fixing the cabinets, Grandpa?” I asked.
“Oh, God, no,” he snapped. “I’m trying to remember where you keep the good glasses so I can grab one to pour me a cold beer.”
My mom was visibly upset as soon as he said that. My father liked to drink, and so did my dad. Beer just happened to be their pastime and our curse.
“Dad, there’s no beer for you,” my mom said.
