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Tales My Grandfather Told

Judge Santiago Burdon

    I don’t call someone a friend or use the word often. The reason for this practice is due to my grandfather’s tutelage and instruction in his many lessons of life. I was almost twelve years old fishing with my grandpa at Castle Rock Lake in Wisconsin. Actually I was the one doing the fishing, he threw in a line and left it unattended. The reason for our outings was so he could drink his Scotch without my grandma giving him grief.
     There was never a void in conversation when we were together. We always found a subject to talk about. My grandpa was an Encyclopedia of knowledge, a talented raconteur, with his stories always ending with a lesson.
    Our conversation had focused on the theme of friendship after me mentioning my disappointment in the betrayal of a buddy.
    “Hey grandpa, why is it at times you think someone is your best friend, only to end up double crossing you later?”
    “It’s just the way people are. A true friend will stand with you when you’re going through hell. The only thing they expect in return is your friendship.” He shook his head and took a swig from his Silver Flask. Then as he usually did when it was only the two of us together, he passed the Flask to me, offering a taste. As always I decline his offer.
    “No thanks gramps, I don’t drink.”
    “You mean to say, you don’t drink yet. The day will come soon enough.” He laughs.
    “Tell me Santi, how many friends do you have?”
    I began counting names on my fingers. “Tommy, Brian, Kenny, Tony, Dale and...I have so many friends I don’t have enough fingers to count all of them.”
    At that moment he slid closer on the boat seat and there was a serious expression on his face. He placed both of his large hands over my fingers, pushing them down, covering them with a strong grip. Then he raised one of my fingers and held it in front of my face. In a commanding whisper he said,
    “When you’re a man my age and you can say you have one friend, consider yourself a lucky man.”
    “But you have a lot of friends, gramps. When we’re out and about everyone says hello and shakes your hand.”
    “That’s not friendship Santi, that’s fear. If they had the chance most of them would stab me in the back.”
    “Then who’s your best friend grandpa?”
    “You know who. You’re my best friend!” He leans over and gives me a kiss on the head and his trademark soft punch in the arm.
    I didn’t want to tell him that I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. He always seemed to talk in riddles, his story ending with proverbs. I was too young to understand at the time.
    However, as I grew into a man, never completely abandoning my childhood, it all became perfectly clear.
    “Do you understand?”
    “Yes, thank you.” I lied.
    “So Santi do you have a girlfriend? What, you’re about fifteen, sixteen now?” Grandpa asks.
    “No gramps, I’ll be twelve at the end of this month.”
    “Thought you just had a birthday in May. I remember your grandma sending ten dollars in a birthday card for you.”
    “Ya that happens almost every year now. She mixes up my birthday with Cary’s. I should confess. Sometimes I get change for the ten dollars and put five dollars back in and give him the card. I say I’m sorry for opening it but it had my name on it. I know it’s wrong.”
    “Yes it’s wrong but shows you’re not stupid. In fact that’s pretty clever. You know if your older brother finds out he’ll beat the hell out of you. Then after that your old man will take a turn at beating your ass.”
    “I’ve gotten beatin’s for much less than that. It’ll be worth it. I’ve made thirty five dollars counting my little sister’s birthday and including Christmas money.” I confessed.
    “Santiago, you remind me of myself when I was younger. Let me pass on this bit of valuable information. Never, I mean never admit your guilt. Declare your innocence until they throw the switch on the chair. You understand?”
    “Yes sir, I understand.”
    “You know my brother Antonio knew exactly what day and what time he would die.”
    “Really gramps? How did he know that?” I had to ask.
    “The judge told him.” He started laughing.
    “Very funny grandpa. You’re a natural born comedian.”
    “So tell me, have you got a girlfriend?”
    “No, not really. There is someone I have a crush on but she doesn’t have any interest in me. I asked her to dance at the church sock hop, she said no. It kinda made me embarrassed and being rejected like that really hurt.
    “Ya, women are incredibly hard to figure out. There’s no reason for their rhyme. They’re the most beautiful, sweet, loving, amazing, evil, vengeful, psychotic creatures you’ll never understand. But I’m going to tell you a tale and I want you to remember the moral of the story.”
    “Ok grandpa, I’m listening.”
    I enjoyed it when he told his tall tales. They were always entertaining.
     “An old crippled dog was attempting to cross the railroad tracks, stepping over the first rail slowly, proceeding over the next. Then without warning from around the bend a locomotive appeared moving at an accelerated speed, heading straight for the old dog. He got his first leg over the second rail, then his other leg and with a briskness he seldom used, both back legs cleared the rails before the train reached him. Unfortunately, his tail didn’t make it in time and it was cut off by the train. When he looked back to see what had happened, the train cut off his head. The lesson of the story is... “‘never lose your head over a piece of tail.”
    I didn’t understand the significance of the story at that time. Although, when I was a teenager sitting next to my older brother in church I learned the lesson. He was flirting with Angela Martinelli across the aisle, he leaned over and whispered to me ...
    “She’s a great piece of tail.” It all came to me, I understood the meaning of my grandfather’s story. I broke out in hysterical laughter. My mother started slapping me on the back of my head with the entire congregation staring at me with disapproving expressions. Father Gallagher stopped his sermon and asked, “Santiago, would you care to share with all of us what it is you find so amusing?”
    “Father, I apologize to you and the entire congregation. I was remembering a story my grandfather told. He wondered if Jesus lived on the Earth at this time, if he would have been arrested for exceeding the limit for catching fish or maybe charged with poaching, because he didn’t have a license? When my grandfather was alive, he mentioned it to me while we were fishing. We laughed about the possibility. Then just now you spoke about Jesus telling his disciples to cast their nets on the other side of the boat. After following his instructions, they caught an incredible amount of fish. It reminded me of my grandfather’s story. He always seemed to find humor in life. I miss him so much. I apologize again.”
    Father Gallagher started laughing along with some of the congregation.
    “Thank you for sharing Santiago.”
    After Mass my brother pulled me aside to speak with me.
    “How in the Hell do you do it? I can’t believe how you come up with bullshit when you’re on the hotseat. Tell me.”
    I scratched my head acting confused saying, “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I told the truth. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
    He punched me in the stomach and pushed me to the ground.
    “Santiago, what are you doing rolling around on the ground in your Sunday clothes? Get up!” my mother screamed.
    I sure do miss my grandfather.

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