The only grandparents I knew were my Grandma Beavers, who was to me a consummate witch, and my Grandpa Carriker, who was her polar opposite. Grandpa Carriker came to visit us in the summer of 1942. Compared to him, Calvin Coolidge was a blabber-mouth but Grandpa was a pleasant old man to have around. He liked his beer and since we didn't keep it in the house he walked the 13 blocks to town just about every day.
One day he invited me to take him to the Caney dam to fish. Mother fixed us a brown bag lunch while we gathered up our poles and I dug a few worms out of the ground. Our walk to the dam was leisurely and not burdened by conversation. We crossed the dam, sat down, baited our hooks and sat silently fishing. After a few hours, during which time we caught nothing, Grandpa said it was about time to head for home. We wound our lines around the bamboo poles, crossed the dam and walked quietly along the tracks towards home. After walking about a half-mile, he stopped, looked down at me and broke the silence with these word
“Let’s form a line and take a piss”
I have read of people who received sage advice from a grandparent. I have known one or two people who spoke of their grandparent’s great wisdom and perspicacity. Perhaps I should envy them. But for sheer memorability I doubt that anyone has a more frozen, crystalline, memory of their grandparents words than that simple, direct declaration made by my Grandpa Carriker. We finished what we stopped for and walked the rest of the way home in silence.