I was 17 when my grandpa passed away, but I still remember the day.
I had just gotten home from school when my mom sat me and my two sisters down — unusual, considering my mom worked night shifts back then and barely had any time to catch up with us after school.
I knew something was wrong as she took a deep breath before spilling the news. My grandpa died at the age of 82. He didn’t suffer, thank goodness, and he had been active for his age.
He had always loved vintage cars and would often take me to car shows, which is where my love for everything with an engine came from.
My grandpa was so influential in my life that I eventually became an engineer because of his hand in my upbringing.
Even though Grandpa couldn’t afford to buy an entire assortment of vintage automobiles like many of his friends who also attended the car shows, he had one vehicle that he spent every weekend cleaning and tweaking minor details.
And every weekend, my mom would drop me off so I could help him out and bond with my grandpa.
I always thought Mom just wanted us to be close, but it seems it was more convenient for her that way,
Nonetheless, my weekends with Grandpa gave me some of my favorite memories.
Whether it was the time I knocked over the oil can, or when Grandpa accidentally scratched the Chevy Bel Air’s red paint job, it was all a lot of fun and we never ran out of things to do.
I especially liked helping Grandpa because he would fill the ashtray with candy — Grandpa never smoked and told me to stick to candy instead,
Every weekend, I’d jump in the car, open the covered ashtray, and pull out a handful of candies.
Then, having eaten my treats in a few quick gulps, we’d get down to business. My sisters would scoff when my grandpa asked them for help. Instead, they preferred to spend time with my two cousins.
We were never close.
But I didn’t mind. I loved spending time with Grandpa. Anyway, when I got the news that Grandpa had passed away, I was heartbroken.
He was my best friend, even throughout my teens.
I remember running up to my room, where I spent the rest of the evening. The following morning, I walked down to the kitchen still in my pajamas — I wasn’t going to school the very day after my grandpa had passed — and everyone was giving me the cold shoulder.
I thought they were angry at me for leaving so abruptly, so I apologized to my sisters, but they just snorted and walked away. Feeling dejected and now very isolated, I went to my mom to hear what was wrong.
“Honey, you have to understand that it’s only expected for your sisters to be a bit jealous.
If you hadn’t stormed off, you would have heard that your granddad left you the Chevy.”
I gazed at her in disbelief. Grandpa’s Chevy? He’d never let anyone else have it.
It was his. It couldn’t be mine. I couldn’t even drive properly by that point.
“Now, don’t look so excited.
You’re acting like a real vulture. I’ve decided that you won’t inherit it.” Even more of a shock. This day was turning out to be too much, and I haven’t even had my breakfast yet.
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