A Real Man

A Real Man

“You a real man, ain’t cha boy?” My gramps questioned, lighting piece after piece of newspaper on fire and lettin’ them fall to the ground, blazing yellow and red.

“Yess si-si-sir, I stuttered, voice cracking towards the end.

“Good to hear it, because a real man stomps out fire.”

That was my first initiation to becoming a real man, and though I probably looked pretty dumb stomping out smoldering newspapers, the thought of being rejected by my Grandpa plagued me, as it had my entire life.

After that, I followed him to his metal shop behind the house and watched him build a two story bonfire out in the backyard, just to show what real men did.  What a sight to see, the fire dancing in the wind and warming the already hot and humid Louisiana air with its crackles and sparks. I wish I could have stared at it all day, but it wasn’t too long before the fire department got a whiff and headed our way.

I don’t think the fire would have been as big a deal if Gramps hadn’t tried to kick one of the firemen, especially in the fireman’s ‘line of duty’–thats a federal offense, you know.  Come to find out, that’s why they ended up hauling the old fool off to jail, kickin’ and screamin’.  I was at the station when they finally let Gramps go. Lucky for them, he had come up with quite a bit to say about being tossed in the can.

“Damn morons! Damn Yankees!” he sneered.  “Good for nothing low lifes!”

I’d heard these words so many times during my childhood that I was shocked when Mrs. Martha, the secretary, actually took offense. The last to head out the door, I leaned over and smiled at her, “Grandpa might have a mouth on him, but he never means a lick of it.”

We never saw it coming; Gramps and I were driving back from the jail when a little black sports car ran a red light, smashing into our tiny ford truck. I don’t remember much, seeing as how I passed out; But, I do remember seeing Gramps lying there in the metal hospital bed stationed right next to mine. I had almost forgotten what the big grizzly man with boots and overalls had looked like, seeing him dejected like a wounded soldier.  “Gr-Gr-Gramps?   You al-al-alright?” I gasped, leaping from my bed to his.

He had turned to me and whispered, with a twinkle in his eye, “Damn Yankee tried to kill me.”   I’d nodded, feeling relieved he was back to his old self. “Next time we’ll get ’em Gramps,” I’d said, getting ready to jump up off his bed before he could smack me one for sitting on it in the first place.  He grabbed my hand before I could jump though and that’s when he said the only words I thought real men didn’t say. “I may not always show it, but I Love You son.”