Excerpt: "Granddaddy was laughing at the bottom of the stairs, holding an air horn."
An excerpt from "Our Shawnee"
My granddaddy was way more of a father figure to Tony and me. His name was Julio Burden. He was Puerto Rican and he trained horses at Churchill Downs. He later worked at Ms. Bullock’s farm out by Oxmoor, where he helped with the horses and raised chickens. When he drove his truck around Portland everybody knew him. No matter where he went, he saw someone he knew. He’d pull his truck over to talk to his friends.
He was funny and all the kids in our family loved him. He was like an older kid. One time at his house, my cousins, Tony, and I were upstairs, talking and eating on the carpet, dropping food and then hurrying to clean it before Granny found out. Suddenly, it sounded like a huge explosion went off. My heart skipped a beat. Granddaddy was laughing at the bottom of the stairs, holding an air horn.
I spent the night a million times at Granddaddy and Granny’s house, and it was always fun. My brother and I barely spent any time at home in those days. We’d choose which rooms we wanted to stay in. Sometimes we’d have to stay in the same room, and he’d sleep on the floor and I got the bed. In the back of their house, there was a shed where Granddaddy kept his tools and his two dogs, a big bloodhound named Sancho, and a pitbull called Sammy. I liked Sammy the most, his friendly personality and droopy face. Sancho scared me a little.
In the morning, we’d usually eat leftovers from the night before, like ravioli or noodles. But one time I wanted a traditional breakfast, and Granddad suggested we cook it together. He got out two different kinds of sausage, along with the eggs, bacon, toast, and grape pop to drink. I cooked the basics, eggs and bacon, and constructed a monster sandwich with it — the best breakfast that I had ever had.
Granddaddy showed his love with food. If we wanted two different things, like a hotdog and a big bag of chips, Granny would want us to pick one thing, but he’d say, “Eat both.” He’d pick me up from school and take me to McDonald’s, buy me as much as I cared to eat. Or he’d knock on our window in the morning, wake us up with breakfast in tow: pancakes, sausages, eggs, hash browns, orange juice.
When I was fourteen, Granddaddy had a motorcycle accident and had to have open heart surgery. Later, his heart gave out. He was only fifty-seven. He passed away the day after my fifteenth birthday and I was supposed to attend his wake the next day. It would’ve been my first wake ever. I couldn’t bring myself to go.
- Asia Frey, author (pictured)