The Kite

When JJ, my grandpa passed away, I was in Toronto trying to decide whether to fly home to see him one more time or wait until the funeral. I had spent 3 days speaking with my parents going over all our options. My mom spoke with her dad and he said that he knew. He knew what I was thinking and how I feel. He said that he always kept a special place in his heart just for me. He said, “I know Greg.” I miss him very much and I regret not going to Winnipeg to say goodbye.

Somehow I want to write to show my respect for a truly extraordinary man. The only thing that I can think of is to tell stories and as I have said before, I love a good story.

I was 10. My parents had bought a new house on Foxdale and sold their house on Hawthorne. The home on Foxdale was a 2 bedroom bungalow that was being renovated into a 4 bedroom with a second floor above the garage. We did not have a home for a long time so we stayed at my grandparent’s house. I have so many memories from that summer. My grandparent’s house was a fantastic playground for me.

You see, my grandpa was a working man. He loved to build things with his hands. He had tools that I still don’t know how to use. His garage was full of gardening tools, power tools, a drill press, table saw, router table and a seeming endless supply of wood. During the summer we spent at his house, he was building his garden using lattice. He could have gone to the store and bought prefabricated lattice but he would rather build it himself from scratch.

Once again my imagination took over. I was looking at all this thin, light weight wood that my grandpa was going to use for his lattice. I could just imagine the kite that I could build. I took one piece and cut it up. I used twine to tie each section into the shape of a kite and used a garbage bag for the skin and tail. It was a remarkable kite, brown and green with duck tape. I was sure it would fly.

Ten kites later, I was out of wood and crushed by my defeat. I was so sure it would work. When my grandpa came into the garage he saw the mess of his wood and how unhappy I was. Here I was in my own head just beginning to realize that I had used the wood without asking my grandpa. The guilt and fear began to creep in. He looked at me with his eyes filled with understanding and grace. Put his arm around me and asked me to make sure I cleaned up the mess.

He knew me better than anyone and I love him dearly.