writing A day with my Grandfather

[TheBronyHeart 2,640]

I notice quite often that days tend to flow together to form one long piece of time. Even though we put an end to every day by letting ourselves escape into the realm of dreams, I often feel as though the day never ends. It is as if one flows into another, and life itself is the day. This is ,for me at least, most noticeable in the warm summer days. I begin those days at the day that was designated to be my birthday, early in the month of July, the second actually. That is one of days that actually stick out in my memory as actual units of time. As for the rest of the summer, I really can’t say the same. As I said, the days flow into one another and simply form a path that we continuously walk. I always seem to lose count of the days, even if I try my hardest not to, and if you were to ask me what day of the week it was on any given day save for Sunday, I would not know. In all honesty, the only reason for knowing Sunday would be due to Church. Yet, even though I always know when Sunday comes about, I am unable to keep track of the days. One day is the equivalent of the other. The entire summer itself is just one long stretch of time. I simply go about living in it.

 

However, there is one day in particular that I can recall with almost perfect memory, which in fact was on a Tuesday. I remember it as a whole, a day, and a splendid memory. It was one of the few that broke the cycle of never ending stretches of time. Yet, what was it about this day in particular that made it so memorable for me? Well, it was a day spent with a family member. Someone who is not only dear to me, but has complete command of my respect and attention at all times. My Grandfather.

 

He was, and is, a formidable man. Despite his now hunched back which deprives him of a few of his valuable inches, he stands to be a tall man who more than likely towered over many in his prime. With broad shoulders and a firm figure, he was what would appear to be a handsome gentleman back in his younger days. Yet, of course, whether it was by time alone, or by that and the damaging effects of cigarettes, he has not aged so well. Despite such, he still looks capable of weathering many more years of a harsh existence.

 

He once fought in an ancient war some time ago, or at least ancient to my generation. A brutal conflict given the designation of the war in Vietnam, which is a rather straightforward name in itself. I know not of the deeds and trials he was committed to whilst in this war, as I never asked him. I imagine they are not of things in which he would wish to discuss, but I will never know.

 

These days, he has all of the respect that I can spare. Funny enough, I remember a time when he frightened me. I was a child then, and there was not much that I did know. My Grandfather has always been an intimidating person. He spoke with a gruff, and deep voice, one which commanded authority when he did. I often avoided his company, and instead spent the majority of time at his house with my Grandmother. Of course, that really didn’t last all that long. Soon enough, when I started growing up, we found one another holding conversations and sharing a select few like interests. Our conversations were not exactly of a golden quality, as neither of us was ever any good at it. Still, I always did enjoy our times spent together, and I wonder if he had the same level of enjoyment.

 

One thing that always fascinated me was my Grandfather’s collection of rifles and other guns. The majority of them were not real weapons, rather they were old and antique BB guns. Seeing the vast amount of them that he had amassed in his work room was stunning. He had well over a hundred that he strived to repair and keep maintained. It was a simple hobby and I held respect and appreciation for that as well. I will never forget the day he gave me my very first BB gun. It was a Red Ryder lever action air rifle. It was a beauty, and over the years, I would receive several more rifles from him. And, one Christmas, about a year ago I believe, he gave to me another rifle, but this was no air rifle, it was a very real hunting rifle. It was actually one that he had used long ago. He assured me that it was a very fine gun indeed. I was thrilled.

 

It was during that day in the summer, the one which I happen to remember above all others, that he took me out to shoot that very rifle. No, it was not an extraordinary event, nor did anything overly excitable occur. I am not quite sure if I can explain it really. Something about just being with him, my Grandfather, on a warm, sunny summer day at our makeshift shooting range was just so remarkable. It was a simple joy, and I can say that it was a a very meaningful happiness. There isn’t really much to tell about the day in particular. We spent a good deal of time fiddling with the old sights and scope attached to the rifle. And the majority of the rest of the evening was spent learning the proper techniques of how to hold the gun, how to aim it, and how to breath while I steadily pull the trigger. We did just that, all while the leaves bristled in a light summer breeze, and the sun slowly arced through the sky towards its destination. Upon the falling of darkness, we packed up all our things and slowly made our way back to the house.

 

I wonder… truly… just what was it in that glorious little evening that made such an everlasting impression upon me? Perhaps I shall never know, or perhaps I already do know. After all, it is just a little thing, and so easy to understand. And now, I throw myself back into the stretch of time. Perhaps, I just might have another day like that.

 

-David Favret

[Master Blade the Bearded 112]

I feel the same way. About summer, that is. Even during the school year the days tend to run together. The only reason I keep them straight is that we have A and B days. That and dance, I suppose.

 

I have had no similar experiences to the one described here. Sure I love my Grandpa, but both he and I are usually very silent men. Him especially.

 

My first time shooting a rifle was with my dad and older brother at my grandparent's farm. My dad didn't even realize it was my first time, though my brother did. I was shooting an SKS from prone position, the gun rested on a thin log. It had a scope, but the gun kept jamming, as SKSs usually do.

 

 

This story has made me realize that I am not extremely close to anyone. While I am closest to my mother, even she doesn't know some of my stanger, darker sides.

 

 

 

And so again, I must thank you David, for making me think and and making me realize the joy in the small things in life.

[TheBronyHeart 2,640]

And so again, I must thank you David, for making me think and and making me realize the joy in the small things in life.

Thank you. You don't know how much that means to me.

 

This was the first short story like piece I have written since sixth grade. I know there are a lot of problems with it.

 

Also... the day I was referencing hasnt really happened yet. It is something I am looking forward to because it will happen. Everything else was true though.

[Master Blade the Bearded 112]

Thank you. You don't know how much that means to me.

This was the first short story like piece I have written since sixth grade. I know there are a lot of problems with it.

Also... the day I was referencing hasnt really happened yet. It is something I am looking forward to because it will happen. Everything else was true though.

That merely shows how mature you are as a writer. Being able to use real people in rather realistic events is a gift that I certainly do not have.

 

Heck, it was realistic enough that I believed it, and that is very important in writing, as it allows the reader to read something, compare it with events they have seen/experienced, and, if that causes no problems, consequently get lost in the story.