The day my grandpa died hit me hard. For weeks after I was absolutely devastated. The only man that raised me and taught me my values was just gone. I faced death many times in the past, but it was different when it was someone that meant so much to me. I had nightmares for weeks on end. In one of them, I was standing before the turnstiles of hell, ready to board a train into the underworld. A dark dream, something I was so afraid of that I woke up out of breath and covered in a sheet of ice cold sweat.

Coming home from work was horrible. From a cruddy day of getting yelled at by my manager for something I have no control over, to coming home to my wife complaining that I wasn’t giving her enough attention, I was really torn apart. But what killed me the most was that phone call from my grandpa’s attorney. My phone started ringing around 10 o clock.

My phone went off, it was a caller ID that I didn’t recognize. “Hello, Safety 24/7 how can I help you?”

“Hi, is this Abraham?” the caller asked.

“Yeah, its Abraham. How can I help you?”

“Well Abraham, it’s your grandfather’s attorney, have you heard yet?”

“Heard what?” I said as my heart dropped into my stomach.

“Your grandfather, he, well he died.” He replied with sorrow in his voice.

“I’m sorry, can I call you back? I don’t think I can deal with this right now.”

“That’s fine, be careful, if you feel like you can’t handle it, don’t be afraid to seek help.”

I hung up the phone. Sitting there for a few minutes an ice-cold feeling started spreading from my heart to the rest of my body. I went to my cabinet and pulled out a bottle of vintage Glenmorangie, a nice 14-year-old cognac cask matured bottle. I took out 2 shot glasses. One for me, and one for my grandfather. This bottle was the first bottle he drank with me. It was around 800 dollars and brings back fond memories. My grandpa drank a lot, so he always smelled like cognac.

Taking a shot brought back many painful memories. The more I drank the more they came back. From the time he first took in me and my mom, to when he first sat down and talked to me about what a man should be like. As the warmth began to spread in my chest I couldn’t help but be dragged back into the past. 

I was only nine years old. It was a hot summer day; my mom made some lemonade and my grandpa came home from work early. He had a present for me due to my good grades all year. I ran up to him and jumped in his arms welcoming him home. I still remember his proud smile as he took me to his car and pulled out two baseball gloves and a brand-new baseball.

He said to me, “Son, listen here, there are many things that a man needs to know in life, and one of those is playing ball. Baseball is America’s past time. It’s a big part of what makes us American. It’s something that we came up with and have great pride in. Every man should know how to throw a baseball at the least.”

Finishing with his impromptu speech, he handed me a glove and told me to take around 10 steps away. He walked me through the underhand throw, to the overhand. Over the next few weeks we even got to what he called a spit ball. I always giggled when I heard that name, something about it just made me laugh.

A year later, he bought me a bow and a set of arrows. He told me that another big aspect of being a man is being able to provide for your family no matter what. He would make me practice a few times a week. Saying that practice is not what makes people perfect, a solid foundation and perfect practice made people perfect.

After he got me the bow he took me into the mountains for my first time. There was something aweing to me about being out there in wilderness with my grandfather. We were both exploring the woods, but I still felt so small and insignificant. He took me up to a secret lake that he knew about hidden in the mountains. He carried a heavy backpack with a tent and some supplies, so we could spend a few days up there. I asked him when I would be old enough to carry a backpack like his, and all he did was look at me and chuckle, saying soon kid. Soon.

After we found a good campsite near the lake, he taught me about some basic campcraft techniques. The one that stuck with me the most was the leave-no-trace rule and technique. He looked for an hour to find a spot where we wouldn’t disturb the wildlife, something close enough to water that it was easily accessible, but still far enough away where we won’t contaminate it. Watching him set up the tent was shocking to me. He only used a pole and some stakes, it looked so complicated that it might’ve taken 10-year-old me at least an hour to figure out how to set up by myself. Yet he did it with smooth and practiced motions getting it up in less than 10 minutes.

After the camp got set up, my grandpa took me to the lake and we unpacked all our fishing gear. He told me, “Remember this! With patience one can achieve anything. If you are willing to wait, all things will come to you!”

I took this to heart and sat there as patiently as I could. After neither of us caught anything for around 45 minutes, my grandpa got up and reeled the poles in. I asked him, “Granpappy, why are you reeling it in? Didn’t you say if we were patient we would catch something?”

He responded to me while reaching into his backpack, “Just because you are being patient doesn’t mean you can’t do anything to increase your chances at success kiddo.”

Drawing his hand out of the bag, I saw he grabbed a can of corn. I looked at him with a queer expression on my face. He put his finger up to his lips and looked at me with a “you’ll see soon” look. He opened the can and grabbed a handful of corn throwing it out to where we cast our lines earlier.

“Now we wait,” he said as he leaned back against his chair.

We sat there for 15 minutes before he decided to cast our lines out again. Handing me my line, he went and sat down. Not even 5 minutes later he got a bit. Quickly he hooked the fish and dragged him out. Getting the hook out of the fish’s cheek he told me to grab the underwater basket that we had sitting nearby. I ran over quickly and grabbed it. He threw it through the one-way door at the top and told me to go put it back in the water.

As soon as I got back to my pole, I felt something nibbling. I tried to hook it the way my grandpa did, and was successful, but right before I was able to drag it onto shore, it got away. I was so mad that I was ready to break my pole. However, my grandpa gave me yet another sage piece of advice. “He who controls his emotions (or himself) can control the world.”

When I was younger I took that as a calm down your being stupid, but only when I got older did I understand his wisdom.

As I was drinking the next few years went by like a blur. From him teaching me to shave, to my first date, my first car, my first job, even getting robbed for my first time. After I got robbed he enrolled me in martial arts and told me to study well. His good friend was the owner of the studio, so I got a lot of personal one on one time with him, causing my skill level to soar.

Halfway through my reminiscing, I started feeling like puking. Getting up I put the bottle down and drunkenly walked over to my couch. I barely reached it before I flopped and passed out.