His Story

I didn't know my grandfather very well. For example, I didn't know that my grandfather was a war veteran, a two hundred and fifty pound boxer, and a man with a passion for driving semi-trucks. I never really thought about any of my family members in the past or how they came to be the people that they are today. All I could recollect is that my grandfather loves to go to the truck stop every morning and have a cup of coffee with his friends. I knew he loves to fish and goes camping every year with the family. I learned a lot more about him when I visited my grandparents and interviewed Grandpa for an assignment I was given in English class.

Grandpa smiled, "Lil' Bri, is that you?" That's what he called me, a nickname I had to distinguish between my father and me.

"So what story is it that you wanted to hear?" asked Grandma, who was with us to help Grandpa tell a story. "You could tell him about the time you got lost when you went hunting."

"Nah, I was only lost for about thirty minutes that wouldn't make much of a story."

"Or do you want to hear about his accident?"

"It doesn't really matter," I said casually. "I just need a story. Anything is fine with me."

She quickly retorted, "Well, which story do you want to hear? The one about his accident?"

I was fidgeting with my voice recorder. I looked up. "Sure," I said and put the recorder down. "Sorry, I can't get this stupid recorder to work. I'll give you a call if I need to clear something up later."

Grandpa leaned forward, "It was January of nineteen-seventy-eight. I was cutting a tree down for my mother. I got on top of one of the limbs and was cutting with the chainsaw, and that's when I was hit by a branch and fell down."