The Night my Grandpa shot my Dad
Half Moon Of Night
It was a deafening night
It was a half-moon night and it was terrifying.
Grandpa stood outside the farm house, suspenders over his shoulders waiting so impatiently for us as we pulled up in out 1968 yellow 396 Chevrolet Caprice.
He had a wide build and a stern face but he was not as tall as his sons, and I could see his frown before he said anything. He removed his hat and squints at us girls as we pile out of the car. As he stomps away from us Dad gets out and walks right past him into the farmhouse.
We all look at Dad and then at Grandpa and realize the discontentment between them will never change. Us girls didn’t care we really did not like grandpa.
‘Why can’t we just be happy and have a normal weekend?’ I wondered this every time we came to visit.
No one spoke as Grandma was making biscuits on the old wood stove. The floors in the old farm house were too squeaky and scratched. I guess we were lucky they were not dirt floors. The walls had cracks in them and the cold would come straight through the house in the winter. I always got a cold when I visited.
Grandma was the reason we visited, it wasn’t because of Grandpa.
The food on the table looked so inviting fried chicken and mash potatoes and gravy and greens beans fried okra. I was hoping we would be able to eat this time hoping the arguing would not start up like last time.
As we sat down at the table to eat the tension was thick.
Dad was already sitting down when Grandpa came into the room.
“What do you got to say for yourself?” He asked my daddy.
“Nothing, we came here to visit Mom, nothing to do with you!” Dad stated without even looking up!
‘Oh good grief, not again, Please, Lord Help us!’ I thought to myself.
Grandpa came out of his chair with a gun in his hand, he grabbed my sister Anne and had the gun lodged against her head. Dad came out of his chair and knocked the table over with the food and Grandma flew onto the floor with the rest of us.
“You let Anne go! “Dad yelled.
Grandma was screaming “Stop! Both of you stop.”
All three of us girls were crying and Anne was terrified. She was white as a ghost.
“I am sick of all of you and especially sick of my no good son.” As he said that he lifted the gun straight at Dad and shot him and Dad fell on the floor with blood going everywhere.
Grandpa threw Anne on the floor and he grabbed his keys to the old pickup truck and he was gone.
Getting Dad to the hospital was not easy; we picked him up bleeding everywhere and put him in the back seat. As I was the oldest (fourteen) and we didn’t have phones back then I drove as fast as I could to the hospital.
My father lived and we never saw Grandpa ever again. He had to have been the meanest man I ever knew. We never knew why Grandpa hated my dad like he did. But I have to be honest we did not miss him at all.
My Dad is the best dad ever. I thank God every day for Dad and that he is still alive.
By: Debbie Brooks
(Most of this hub is fictional, some of it is true. Can you tell me the part that is true?)
The Red Farm House
©Copyright 2012 by Poet - Deborah Brooks-Langford, Debbie, or Deborah Brooks. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used for re-distribution, provided that full and clear credit is given to Deborah Brooks-Langford , Debbie, or Deborah Brooks with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. All rights reserved. Any violation or infringement of this copyright notice will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.