Grampa
                ©1993  Susan Guziejka

He wears a gangster hat from the 1920's hollers when things don't go his way.

He reads from the Bible to his little granddaughter, 
shows her the pretty pictures.

Prejudice fills his soul. 
He tries to refuse to walk her mother down the wedding isle. 
She is marrying a Pollock and a black woman is singing the wedding song.

Yet his little granddaughter can do no wrong, 
it doesn't matter who she has for friends.

He shatters his hip is now crippled and has to use a wheelchair, 
it nearly destroys his pride.

He takes his little granddaughter for rides on his lap, 
sometimes he even smiles.

He feeds beer and whiskey to her parakeet, she yells at him to stop. 
Her poor bird Peter, he acts so strange.

For the first time she sees tears in his eyes when he tells her that her
dog has died, he blames himself.

He has no education, change is hard for him, his granddaughter is not to
question why one kneels to pray, you have to do it that way, it's the law.

He holds his granddaughter on his lap while she reads to him. 
He is comforting to her.

His wife can hear if she wanted to, there is nothing wrong with her ears. 

He doesn't have much money, most of it goes to medical bills and booze.

He teaches his granddaughter how to cook, bake, and grow flowers;  
Irish folk songs are what he sings to her so she will sleep.  
He must like some parts of life.

He tries to be a good person, he's a strikebreaker, they call him scab. 
He puts money away for his grandchildren. 
His granddaughter is off to England with her senior high class,
because of him.

Someone tells his granddaughter that he is dead; she cries and cries.

My grandfather, black and white. 
Extremes. I wonder what it was like for him as a child.

I still love him.