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calloused hands covered my own, guiding them through the intricate
process of catching my first fish—your smile gleamed with the same
light as mine once a fish caught the hook the two of us cast into the water
(my attempts ended with the hook caught on the tree, it was the one cast
with your help that finally landed in the water)…the catfish, giant by my meager
standards, flew onto the shores of the lake—perhaps you just made it seem so easy.
the water wasn't a beautiful cerulean color; instead it was murky, a drab, dirty brown—
that should have been my first clue…but smiling with two missing front teeth, glasses
perched with a crooked flair I didn't realize how suddenly things could change.
Whenever we would visit you [and grandma as well], you always handed me a sock—
normally of the black and knee high variety—rounded into a five- inch ball, the
jingling noises telling me what was inside…I never did thank you for those times, did I?
It was too late by the time I thought I ought to; your liver or kidney had failed, but then
aren't I telling you what you already know? Indeed, I am, but a simple rehash is good for
spirit (or so you liked to show us with all of your stories and repeated traditions)…
one day, you were in the house fine, smiling and laughing like normal; the next, you were
admitted to the hospital; you never came out, grandpa… Whatever happened to you being

I N V I N C I B L E?