Monkey Cards

My grandfather had this collection of monkey cards. You know, post cards with monkeys in suits and fat ladies in bikinis and alligators with thought bubbles. Mostly, he liked the monkeys. When I used to go over there for a cup of tea or something, he always made me look through his collection. He died a week ago today. I asked my grandmother if I could have the collection. I'm sure no one else in the family will be vying for them.

It's sometimes hard to remember who my grandfather was before dementia took him. Even before that, he was kind of a silly old man. I liked him that way, tender at times, sentimental, and sometimes angry. He used to rail against old slights for hours at top volume.

But I can remember him before that, too, if I put my mind to it. He loved opera, turtles, the fight on tv. He loved to watch the herons swoop into the manmade lake by his rented condo in Florida. He loved to drive to nowhere. He loved fruit and nuts and my grandma's chicken soup. That's my penicilin, he'd say. He taught me to stand up for myself. He slipped me twenties when my grandma wasn't looking (when he wasn't looking, she slipped me fifties). He used to carry me on his shoulders, take his teeth out and make facees, sing "Yes, we have no bananas," and riff on his New York accent. He taught me 1,2,3, cha, cha, cha. Once, my brother and I bought temporary tatoos and made him and his neighbor Ceal apply them to their biceps. Then we all posed like street toughs.

There's another monkey in this story - my monkey, my Dylan. I am so proud that my grandfather got to be at my wedding and got to play with my son. I am grateful for the last nice day we spent together. Grandma went to a luncheon with my aunt and I babysat Poppa (that's what I called him, Poppa Joey) and the baby. I fed them their oatmeal together and then took them to the park. After just a few minutes, they both got tired and we hobbled back to Poppa's apartment, where they took a nap together. Dylan will not remember that, but we have photos, and somehow, I know it will create a germ of tenderness for him.

Boy, I loved him. What more can you say?