Living with Grandparents

I know every family has their problems or their problem child. In my family, my mom and I are the problems. It was like this when I was younger. I was my grandfather's favorite. He still will say I am, but he doesn’t treat me like I am. My mom and I were always around. We would go to dinner at their house a few times a month. We would watch football games there. I went camping every summer with my grandfather. If they needed help at the house they called my mom.

Everything went downhill when my grandmother was going to sell her rental properties. Mom and I lived in one. Mom got approved for a loan and started looking. She just couldn’t find one in her price range she really liked. There was one in town but it was at the top of her price range and she really didn’t like it. She brought me and my grandmother to look at it. That was her mistake. My grandmother saw it and decided my mom needed to buy it. So she pressured my mom into buying the house. My grandmother sold her rental properties and everything was good for a few years.

After my freshman year of high school, that summer, we moved in with my grandparents. I was dreading it. I did not want to move in there. Especially with my grandmother. At the time I didn’t know what my grandmother had done. We just haven’t had the best relationship and I didn’t want this to ruin what we did have. It wasn’t supposed to belong but we have been here about seven to eight years now. I finished high school, went to a trade school, and my mom got sick at that time. If you are wondering if my relationship with my grandmother has gotten worse, yes it has. So has my relationship with my grandfather. I have almost been kicked out of the house over 50 dollars for gas money to go see my mom who was in the hospital in the CCU. That’s the first and last time I ever asked them for money.

I barely talk to my grandparents anymore, even though we live in the same house because I can’t seem to get away. We don’t talk. It’s just better that way. If I just keep to myself then we don’t fight. One time I handed my grandmother the salt wrong and it made her cry. Don’t ask me how I handed it to her wrong, but I did. I have made her cry so many times it’s hard to remember the reasons why. Everything that goes wrong though is my fault. She doesn’t care about anyone else's feeling but her own. Not even my grandfather's. She has tried to give away some of my stuff without me knowing but I overheard. Then if I bring it up it hurts her feelings and she doesn’t care that she hurt mine in the first place. It’s all about her and her feelings.

Now my grandfather. He’s needy, weighs 340 some pounds, and 82 years old. He can’t do a lot but he can be nicer to the people that do everything for him. So I don’t get along with my grandmother that well, but she had a cat that he would feed. Then the cat would go out to the garage and puke. My grandmother would have to pick it up, not my grandfather. So I would stand up for her. Tell him that she doesn’t like him feeding the cat. That would piss them both off. Another thing that pisses him off is when I catch him feeding my dog. She has gained so much weight because he feeds her. She's almost 30 pounds and she’s a Chihuahua mix. She shouldn’t weigh that much. He told me once I should lock her in the bedroom so he wouldn’t feed her. Ummm no just don’t feed her.

My grandfather has also thrown a knife at me. That was a fun day. I also pissed off my grandmother that day, but when don’t I? So my grandfather wanted to spray the weeds in the back of the house, but like I mentioned, he can’t really do a lot, so I was there to help. We were working on the sprayer and he wanted me to cut off the hose to the sprayer. All I asked was “why?” That set him off; he throws the knife at me as he’s yelling “god damn it blah blah mumble mumble mumble.” I speck my grandfather and I couldn’t even understand him. He calms down a bit and tells me to hand him the knife. Yes, the one he just threw at me. I hand it to him and he cuts off the hose. He gets round up in his eyes. I ask if he wants me to get water to flush out his eyes or at least a towel. Of course, because he’s mad “No god damn it.” So me being me, I say, “Fine fucking dealing with it.”

That comment pisses my grandmother off and she stormed off crying. I know what I said was rude but he just threw a knife at me. He can deal with me cussing a little. What he can’t deal with, apparently, is me asking a question. Later that night he sat us all down at the table, my grandmother, mom, and I, to tell us that back in his day when an elder told you to do something you just did it. It didn’t matter what. That’s what he expects. That’s fucking hilarious. That’s not at all how these people have raised me my entire life. I’m not about to change that either just because he’s upset and wants to be in control. No one tells me what to do. They should know that by now.