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A Story About My Grandpa

September 11, 2012 Leave a comment Go to comments

My Grandfather, Martin V. Dikes, passed away recently at the age of 91.  The family asked me to officiate at the funeral and I shared this story at the service.

There are a number of stories that I could tell about my Grandfather.  Upon hearing of his passing, one story came to mind.  This is the story I would often tell to describe my Grandfather.

I went to live with my Dad in the eighth grade.  Since we lived a few blocks from my Grandfather, he was listed as the emergency contact.  One morning at school, I came down with a cold.  I went to the school nurse, who called Grandpa, who picked me up from school, and took me to his house on San Angelo.  I took a brief nap on one of the beds in the spare bedroom.

A little while later, Grandpa checked on me.  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better,” I answered.

“Do you think a cookie would make you feel better?”

As if he had to ask.  A cookie always makes a boy, at least this boy, feel better.  I don’t remember if it was an oreo or a chocolate chip cookie, but I do remember him offering one and me having a few more than one.

Before Grandpa left the room, he asked, “Do you need something to drink?”

I was feeling kind of thirsty and when he suggested a soda, I couldn’t disagree with my Grandpa.  Besides, a soda is the best thing for a sick boy to wash down some cookies.

About an hour later, Grandpa checked on me again.  “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” I said.

“Do you feel like playing some golf on the Atari?”

He could’ve asked me to play tic-tac-toe on the Atari and my answer would’ve been, “Yes.”  I would have agreed to play any Atari game he wanted as long as I got to play  Atari.

My Dad picked me up that afternoon.  For some reason, the sight of me sitting playing Atari with a stack of cookies and a soda next to me didn’t quite convince him of my dire medical condition.  That year at school, I may have gotten “sick” a few more times and I almost got to the point where I could beat Grandpa at Atari golf.

Martin V. Dikes, my Grandfather.  He was loved, he is loved, and he will always be missed.

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