My Grandpa Lou was my dad’s stepdad and the only grandpa on my father’s side I ever knew. Once, on a visit with him, I lamented that I would have to take a typing class in the fall. I was 15 and entering my sophomore year of high school. We sat at a picnic table in a park and watched my younger cousins run and play. Grandpa assured me that learning how to type would be a vital skill for me as I entered the job market. I was offended. It was 1990 and I was certain he meant that I was destined to be someone’s secretary. Had he not seen me playing my guitar on his front porch that very morning? I was to be a musician. I loved to write, too, and I would surely journal about his expectations of me later. It would seem we were both full of assumptions.
I would learn way too late to tell him that I was wrong.
For Father’s Day, I Wish I Could Tell Grandpa He Was Right
For Father’s Day, I Wish I Could Tell Grandpa He Was Right, by
Grandpa Lou retired in 1990 at the age of 70. That same year, he tried to impart some wisdom on his rebellious granddaughter who was begrudgingly headed into a typing class.