Grandpa Ed

I was listening to a conversation that my parents were having about their dads (with have both already died) as we drove home from Canada today. And I found out something that changed my opinion a little bit about my Grandpa Ed.

See, he had six kids (my mom and her five brothers) and a wonderful, but rather afraid wife. He was a Detroit cop, served in the military, and definitely a straight laced guy. Up into this point, I've hated him. I haven't really met the man, he died when I was two. But I hated him just the same.

He was an abusive alcoholic who made his wife afraid, screwed up his eldest son, and did countless other things. My grandmother is amazing, and to think that someone treated her like he did for forty years just about kills me. He also gave her emphysema, she never smoked a day in her life, but he sure did.

His family don't acknowledge this too much. Only good memories really get mentioned, or things that don't involve him. Until now, I wrote him off as all bad. Because in my world, you do that to someone, and you don't get forgiven.

But then I learned that he could draw.

Why does this change anything? It's the first time I felt connected to him. No one else in my family is remotely artsy but me.

So I listened to my mom's stories a bit more, and gave it some thought. He wasn't all bad, all the time. He was still horrible, but I have begun to realize that just because he was horrible, it doesn't mean that he made their lives horrible. Only parts of it. He wasn't all evil.

I still hate him. But at least now he's finally family.