My First Time…As A Grandpa
by POPSIE 1956
August 17, 2003 will be the one day in my life that has the most meaning, and I’ve had a lot of meaningful days.
Without specific dates, there was the day…uh…days…I met my real true love..uh..loves.
I’ve had a long life folks, and before they became ex wives, they WERE real true loves…
There was the day I performed on a stage for the first time and knew I wanted more.
There was the day I turned on a microphone and spoke on the radio for the first time and knew I wanted to do this for a career.
There was the day I discovered music.
There was the day I discovered how much I enjoyed making people laugh.
There was also the day I discovered alcohol,, however, the rest of THAT day still remains a bit fuzzy.
But combined, they all come nowhere near the joy I felt August 17, 2003, when my first grandchild was born.
And I SURE as Hell wasn’t ready for it, either!
The story starts in the Barre-Montpelier, Vermont area. I moved there in February 2002 for a radio job. My daughter Megan was turning 18 that December, and towards the end of the year, chose to move back to the Albany area to live with her grandparents.
I don’t remember the exact time I found out she was pregnant, but it threw me for a loop.
Holy crap! (Well, the words were a lot stronger than that but I wanna stay above board.) YOU’RE ONLY 18!
Wait a minute.,..
I’M NOT EVEN 47!
There’s a lot of other things that went through my mind, regarding questioning whether an 18 year old baby can take care of a baby, not to mention the financial responsibilities, and the less about the father the better after all these years.
I’ll just say MENSA wasn’t reaching out to make him a new member.
So the months go along, and I’m losing sleep with worries; for her, for the family, for the “bundle of joy” coming in late Summer.
By this time, my job took me to Pittsfield, Massachusetts; actually better than Vermont, which was close to four hours away from Meg,here, now it’s just under an hour drive.
Saturday night, August 16th, a phone rings in Pittsfield, it’s Schenectady on the other end of the line…
“THIS IS IT!!!!”
In the car, driving on Route 20 to I 90 to the Northway to Route 7 to the Hospital.
Under 45 minutes…..
And….it’s a false alarm.
A result of Meg enjoying Fajita Friday.
BACK to Pittsfield.
Sunday night, August 17th, ANOTHER frantic call from Schenectady.
“THIS IS IT, REALLY NO FOOLIN’ NOT KIDDING GET YOUR ASS IN THE CAR NOW!”
Something told us this WAS it.
Can’t remember the time, but before midnight,. the doctor came out and said “Congratulations, it’s a boy.”
Shortly there after that, I met Christopher Matthew for the first time.
I became a mass of jelly.
I became a grandfather.
The next day, they took a formal picture of Chris, and this PROVED that he was MY grandson;
He’s doing a double flip off to the world, as if to say “Look out f**kers, here I come!”
I chose to name myself Popsie, I got that from a Three Stooges short, appropriate.
After Chris came Grandson 2, Brandon, from my son Pete.
Haven’t seen Brandon in a very long time, not sure when/if I will..family bullshit, less said the better, their choice, their loss, that’s the bottom line.
Five years after Chris, Meg blessed me with Grandson 3, Zachary..excuse me..Zachary MICHAEL!
No words can tell you how I felt when she told me he was named in part after me.
Almost a year ago (as of this writing), Grandson 4, Mason Ryan, arrived.
Took a while with this one, but I can see he has a pisser potential in him at a very young age,.
But it all starts with Chris.
I could lose it all, my career, my health, my money…well, THAT ship sailed a long time ago..but I will NEVER lose the title of Popsie.
I’m a lucky, lucky man.