There once was a man

There once was a man who loved a girl more and more. He slew her dragons and built her a kingdom. It was her he deeply adored. I know this because I am that girl, and that man was my grandfather who changed my world forever.

I was born at 6:45 pm, on June 3, 1981, in Terrell, Texas. The hospital was so far from civilization passersby used It as a rest stop. It was directly across from a field and a McDonald's that still had Ronald McDonald’s gang in the play area. You could count the staff and patients, and thankfully I was the only baby in the hospital that whole week. A few nurses were “confused” because I had different features than my mother, and they could never confirm my father because he never showed. I'm sure he was very busy with important things. We were on the “white” side of the tracks; my mom recalls, from a very young age, repeatedly told to stay away from n-. “Mrs. Brewster, you have a guest.” The nurse presented my grandma. She had arrived moments before my delivery, standing at 4’11, with Janis Joplin’s face and hair like Steve Nicks, a feisty woman. The two could never recall what was said between them, but upon my arrival, their differences no longer mattered. My grandma claimed, “I couldn’t help but hold, kiss, and love you.” Three days later, she decided against my grandfather’s wishes, and we would go home to live with them.

Eugene, a spitting image of Geraldo Rivera, stood like a mountain; he was an intimidating hippie, a steroid Olympian in training. He swerved around the trash cans next to the mailbox and sped down the long gravel driveway that led up to their ranch: horses, goats, ducks, chickens, and a cow or two. My grandma had given my momma a break to nap in the back while she prepared my bottle at the front of the house. She remembers standing at the sink when the place went quiet; she couldn’t have gone to sleep that quickly, she thought. She stormed into the living room to find my playpen emptied and the front door wide open; she caught a glimpse through the floor-length lace curtains, Eugene on foot midway from the house, heading towards the end of the driveway. She panicked and bolted after him screaming his name till the end. He got up to the trash cans and mailbox, stopped, and slowly veered towards her, gently bouncing me wrapped in my blanket. He was crying. He held me cozied up to his chest; I had finally fallen asleep. We were inseparable, and It remained that way for many years; I could only sleep in my grandfather’s arms.

As I grew, I became his right hand. We would take regular morning tractor rides; he would act out all my bedtime stories and indulge me in outdoor adventures. He was the one who taught me to laugh at myself, swim, ride a bike, tie my shoes, go camping, and do things afraid. Don’t get me wrong; he had moments of traumatizing me, like when he said he swallowed a frog that became stuck in his throat, and that’s why his Adam’s apple could croak. Or he would say when he was a child, his family left him at the circus because he wouldn’t eat his veggies. That man was an adventure on his own he was full of surprises; for instance, for his 60th birthday, he came home with sleeve tattoos and said, “I wanted to try something new” he and my grandma were proud owners of several Harley-Davidsons. They were known for taking trips quite often, most of whom were on the backs of motorcycles. Occasionally, my siblings and I joined them on their travels until we had to stop traveling and get off the ranch. I was about six years old when my grandfather sold the farm. He was diagnosed with two types of cancer and could no longer maintain the land, animals, and a whole house of people.

I don’t know who decided the family split up, but I was unhappy. Everything was familiar on the farm, and I was safe. For the next two years, I hid my brothers in closets and behind furniture from my father’s rage toward my momma. My anxiety shot through the roof. I barely slept and was always afraid about my father showing up at my school, and we constantly moved homes so he couldn't find us, and then we had no home. We were homeless for a while, but I remember pieces of the day my grandfather came to get us. It felt like a dream; I was tired and cold.

I remember being in the backseat with bags of clothes and blankets, staring out the window at a broken swing set at the park, muffled arguments faded away, and then waking up in a warm bed. It was my grandparent's new home, and my grandma had given us rooms full of clothes, toys, and a kitchen full of food. A home full of love. For a while, I felt so good to be home to be safe again. There were moments we were up late roasting marshmallows over the fireplace. We never missed a birthday, a sporting event, or my first father-daughter dance; I remember feeling so ugly. My dress was old, and my hair was curly, but my grandfather made me feel like a queen and danced with me all night, poorly but still.

My grandfather took our well-being very seriously. It was some time before we saw or heard from our momma. My grandparents never even brought it up. One night we were all in the living room playing sorry, and my grandfather excused himself from the room. I watched him hurry to the front yard, and naturally, I was curious as to why, so I followed him. It was my mother begging for her children back. “No,” he says, “you can’t prove you can take care of them. You don’t deserve them.” She yells and whines, and I couldn’t believe I was seeing her. I had forgotten her face; I think even her voice. She became desperate and angry, but he didn’t budge, not once. He was determined to stand there all night, and he would have had I not made a noise. He gave her his terms and sent her away. Before he could get back through the gate, I ran back inside and hurried to my room. Eventually, he came in to talk to me about what I saw and asked how I felt about it. He was always allowing me to speak. He made it safe for me to do so, and he made it clear we’d always be safe, loved, and welcomed in his home. I learned about love, respect, and responsibility while in his care.

Before my grandfather passed, I became pregnant. I was terrified of the future, and I didn't receive the support I expected from the women in my family. My grandfather was the one who calmed me amid my storm. I will never forget it. At this moment, I was hopeless and felt ashamed to tell him. He immediately was happy and smiled from ear to ear. He hugged me and said, “sister, congratulations! This is wonderful, look at you! A mom! And me a great grandfather.” My eyes poured all across his chest; he looked at me with the most honest eyes. “I know you're feeling afraid, nervous, maybe even lost, but remember, whenever you feel doubt or a storm of emotions moving in, you brave it, and remember you know how to swim.” I snickered. He was known for joking at the worse time, but it meant the world. And when my daughter arrived, she was his moon. This man was my peace, comfort, direction, and support. My knight and my shield. My freedom and my laughter. This man was Eugene Coleman, the man who loved a girl into a woman