Page 32 of Ginjuh

Chapter 7

We were putting pumpkins in “strategic locations” throughout the corn maze, Austin and me. At least, that’s the verbiage Grandpa had used when instructing us on what to do with the truck bed full of pumpkins that were waiting on us when we showed up on the last Friday in September. The corn had been scythed down by Austin and myself through the end of August and beginning of September, then the Brush Hog was run through to clear anything we missed. Were we done then? Absolutely not. Then Grandpa went through with the plow to turn up the dirt. Then Austin and I took turns driving through the corn maze on the tractor. Over and over we drove, always one of us driving and the other riding along, tamping the dirt down to make the paths easier to walk. Didn’t want anyone tripping and hurting themselves in the corn maze if we could avoid it, after all.

That took a lot of our weekends in September. October was approaching and we wanted to have the corn maze ready for the first weekend of the month. Grandpa had gone with my suggestions and wrangled several of my friends to help out with the corn maze. During the day he would give hayrides with the tractor and trailer—hay bales included, of course—and walks through the corn maze. At night, older kids and adults could walk through the corn maze and get their yearly Halloween scares in.

After my talk with Grandpa—yes, my Grandpa—I had gone home and called Austin. I let him know that I had talked to Grandpa. While I didn’t give him all of the details of what Grandpa had said, I let him know that Grandpa wasn’t exactly my biological grandfather. Austin listened quietly as I poured my heart out about how that made me feel…which was absolutely no different. Grandpa had been my grandfather since I was born. He had treated me no different than anyone would treat their biological grandchild. He had spent time with me, treated me with respect and dignity, taught me, loved me…helped me grow into a man. I loved him and he was my Grandpa. That was all that mattered.

Of course, that meant that I picked Austin up Saturday and we went through our morning routine. But instead of just saying “hi” to Grandpa in the morning and going on about our work, Grandpa was ready to work with us. He drove the tractor and pulled the Brush Hog while Austin and I were relegated to shoveling and raking any big clumps left behind. We tried to get the cut pathways as clear as possible so that turning up the dirt and tamping it down later would be easier. When we had lunch, Grandpa did most of the talking for once, regaling Austin with stories about the first time he held me after I was born, watching me take my first steps, starting school, and even about how the nickname “Ginjuh” came about…it was embarrassing, but in the most wonderful ways.

Austin smiled a lot that weekend and spent a lot of time “accidentally” bumping into me as we worked, which never failed to make me smile. That weekend after talking to Grandpa became one of my favorite weekends in recent memory. Austin and I didn’t really kiss more that weekend but both nights out at Grandpa’s, we watched the sunset together, not leaving until the stars were out and we had seen the world go to sleep together. The worst part was that my dad and I didn’t talk to each other at all that weekend. I figured he was still pretty embarrassed and a little sore about what had happened. By proxy, mom was my enemy as well, but I didn’t hold it against her. No one knows what happens or is talked about between two people in a marriage, so it’s best to not judge when the two people in it present a united front. Even if it’s against their own son.

When I found the piece of paper from Austin waiting in my locker the following Monday, I forgot all about what had happened between my dad, Grandpa, and me, though: