Tag Archives: Father’s Day

Feelings of graditude on Grandfather’s Day

This is Bobo, my dad. MP’s grandpa.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He brings me things. Like bags of laundry. Because not only do I owe him for the college years when I dragged 20 tons of my own dirty laundry home, he’s now a full-time RVer and afraid of getting lice from the communal laundry room. I’m fairly certain hot water and a spin cycle would take care of any issues, but I’m totally on the same page. The familial phobias, they run deep.

And just the other day, he stopped into my office and brought me this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He also clips articles he thinks I should read — torn pages from Money Magazine and USA Today and other random publications from the coffee shop or the dentist’s office, with topics ranging from finances, food, health and single parenthood. For MP, it’s the Sunday Funnies.

Bobo’s favorite catch phrases include, “THAT’s gonna itch when it dries,” “Bull ROAR!” “Drier than a popcorn fart,” “Love me, love my dog,” and the constant crowd-pleaser, “I’m not picking … I have an itch.” MP thinks he’s absolutely hilarious.

He’s nothing if not a character.

He comes to watch her at gymnastics each Friday, and afterward we go to lunch. She has come to count on Sunday night dinners with Bobo. Family meals are a big deal at the Pie House.

Come summer, we fish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And she loves him. And he, her.

Then there’s Poppy, my stepfather and MP’s other grandpa.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poppy lives next door with Grammy. We all have dinner together a few times a week. He loves MP with the intensity of a thousand suns. The two are kindred spirits. They talk about all kinds of things — sometimes without speaking a single a word.

They take tractor rides and watch the sunset. Or in this case, giant piles of dirt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And when he shoots gophers from the porch, MP begs to collect them. I don’t let her. (We’re not COMPLETE savages.) She DOES make the rounds with Grammy, however. I provide surgical gloves and masks.

Ah, the bonding opportunities country livin’ affords.

Mostly, he is her constant. In the absence of a father, he is the one who’s there every day, just a few paces away, right next door.

MP adores him. And he, her.

So, this Father’s Day, as is tradition, we will be celebrating Bobo and Poppy, and Grandfather’s Day. MP will make cards and we’ll split the day between the two. And I’ll say a little prayer of thanks that MP has two wonderfully colorful male role models in her life. They provide important things her single mama doesn’t.

Grandfatherly things.

Man things.

Like fart jokes and dead gophers.

Okay, like dead gophers.

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