Attack of The Claw!

My maternal grandfather was an instigator, when I was younger. My grandmother would finally have the five of us, (cousins and sibs) lined up, sitting quietly and behaved on the church pew, when he'd poke one of us with a finger in the ribs, eliciting a squealing giggle, a wriggle, and then the whole bench would dissolve in wiggling kids.

Or we'd be watching TV and The Claw would make a sneak attack, causing the kids to shout with glee and tumble over him in retaliatory attacks, drowning out the show my grandmother was trying to watch. I occasionally use The Claw on my own kids, to similar effect.

At the beach he'd beckon us into the water, hold out his laced hands, and when we put a foot in he'd fling us backwards into the deeper water to our shouts of delight, ignoring the admonishing calls from my grandmother.

It wasn't just us kids he teased. My great aunt was a target as well, but she gave as good as she got. Often my three cousins and my sister and I would sit and watch the flurry of good-natured insults and verbal pokes fly back and forth across the room with the speed of a Wimbledon tennis match, a few causing us to roll on the floor laughing. Their eyes were always sparkling as they put on the show for us, both of them superb in front of an audience.

My grandfather was a natural entertainer, and his grandkids were his willing audience, although really, he'd perform for almost anyone. As much as he teased and tickled, he was also curious about the world, reading science magazines and history books, and informing us every now and then of some important fact he'd learned. He never went to college, instead getting a job at Worcester Pressed Steel and working hard through the war until he retired from the factory. He couldn't be a soldier; he was rejected because he had epilepsy. But he could still work for the war effort, and  he bore the scars of a couple fingertips lost to the presses to prove it.

He shook the hands of both John F. Kennedy and Robert Kennedy, when they visited Worcester Pressed Steel. And he swore he would never shake the hands of any other politicians that visited there, as they always seemed to be shot after meeting him. As much as he liked to joke, I don't think he was joking about that.

My grandfather had a pure and true sweet tooth, and could lay out a spread of desserts and snacks like no one else I knew. My cousins and I once watched him put five teaspoons of sugar in a six ounce cup of coffee. "Gee, would you like some coffee with your sugar, Grampa?" we'd laugh. "Whaddya mean? It's good this way," he'd say with a wink. One night when I was staying over I was sitting watching TV when he walked in with a couple snack trays, one for me, one for him. On each one, EACH one, was: a mug of rootbeer, frosted of course, a large bowl of freshly popped buttered popcorn (real butter melted on the stove, not the fakey stuff they put in the microwave packages now), a half a large milk chocolate bar, Hershey's Symphony I believe, and a full bowl of ice cream, with chocolate sauce. And then he asks me if that was enough for me. If I was a family of four, maybe. I ate all of it.

I am an instigator, a poker and tickler, a joker, and a pure sweet tooth as well, and I know I get some of these from him.

Lately he's having a bit of trouble waking up, though he smiles and seems to recognize most of us. Sometimes he will say a word or two. At ninety-four, his was a life longer and healthier than most, even if he did break a leg by being stubborn and wanting to pick up his own paper, and crash the car coming to pick up his stranded granddaughter in a snowstorm (no one else knew that except he and I, and now you). He's had a couple of close calls recently, but he always rallied, because he liked to put on a show for the nurses. Not even the nurses are getting a show from him now.

You've left me with a lot of fun and loving memories, Grampa. I only hope I can do the same for my family. The Claw with the sweet tooth will live on.