9/11 & 9/10

(Full disclosure: I meant to publish this earlier in the week, but I work full-time and I have a toddler, so things don’t get accomplished until they’re almost no longer relevant.)

A common question and discussion that comes up on 9/11 is, of course, Where Were You? The producer who sits next to me answered that question by mentioning she was in middle school at the time…and I’ve never felt older. However, this isn’t about me and my crow’s feet (or the fact that the producer next to me does the same exact thing I do and she was in middle school on 9/11)… it’s about that day.

I was actually in college at the time. However, I wasn’t in my dorm room that morning, or in class…or sneaking out of some guy’s room (sorry, parents)… I was standing in my living room at home, getting ready for my grandfather’s wake.

He died on September 10, 2001.

The best way to describe my grandfather is Clint Eastwood in “Gran Torino”, only with less weaponry and more cigarettes. He was famous in his hometown of South Buffalo, NY. I know how that sounds, but it’s true.

My grandfather’s nickname was “Hawks” and I have no idea why. But that’s what everyone called him…even my grandmother. When I was living in L.A. and working at E!, our floor director, Tom, was also from Buffalo and we got to talking one day. I told him where in South Buffalo my family was from, but made no mention of my grandfather’s nickname because why would I? Tom immediately looked up at me and said “Oh yeah, Hawks?” He knew. Apparently a lot of people did…and it wasn’t because my grandpa was nice. No one would ever use that word to describe him. He was just someone you didn’t mess with. He was feared and respected… just about as old school as you could possibly get.

The number one most ridiculous story about him is the one I’m about to tell. Now, just realize I don’t fully believe this story, but it gets told a lot and I have to share it. Because even if it’s not true, some people do believe it, and that will also help clue you in to the kind of person he was – the simple fact that people tell and some actually believe this absurd tale.

When my uncle was a kid, he (and I’m sure he wasn’t alone) did this thing in the winter that is straight out of a scene from Back to the Future: Marty McFly on a skateboard hanging onto the back of a car. Well, back in the day in good ol’ Buffalo, kids would do the same thing in the winter when the roads had iced-over. So, no skateboard…just sliding along the ice while holding onto a moving car. You know…safe.

So one day my uncle is doing this and the driver of the car catches him, stops the car, and starts chasing after my uncle. As the story goes, they’re running all over the neighborhood until the chase stops when the driver clotheslines my uncle in his neck. Apparently my uncle was running fast, so it hurt…bad. He came home and told his father, my grandfather, who started tearing through the neighborhood himself, looking for the man. He was going into local businesses telling people he was looking for the clothes-lining suspect. Long story short, the guy moved. He MOVED from his home, all because he found out my gramps was looking for him.

True or not, what is true is that my grandpa was old school, like I mentioned. He provided for his family of four children and was married to his wife for more than 50 years, but did he show affection? Nope, not really. He was hard on his kids and basically told them what they were going to do and be in life. My aunt would tell you that by the time they got to kid #4, my grandparents really didn’t care. She claims that one year, my grandparents didn’t buy her Christmas presents…they just handed her some cash. So she went to the store, bought what she wanted, wrapped the items, opened them and acted surprised. I can’t verify this information since I wasn’t born yet, but I’ve heard the story a lot along with a slew of other gems that leave me wondering how my mother and her siblings haven’t ended up on Dr. Phil.

Something happens when parents become grandparents. Their tolerance level reaches a whole new high and they seem to enjoy the whole “kid” thing a lot more. I get it. You can hang with your grand kids and then peace the F out. You don’t have to deal with the day-today bull of “Oh shit, so-and-so has Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease.” You can just pop back in the picture when they’re not gross and fun again.

My grandparents did a lot for my sister and I. We lived with them after my parents split up and we moved out of our house. They did fun things with us and, in general, just put up with us because, let’s face it, kids can be crap.

My aunt (the cash in place of love one) said one day she walked into my grandparents’ house to find my grandfather making two ice cream cones. She thought, “This is it!” After a childhood void of emotion, her dad was making ice cream cones for the two of them to enjoy together and maybe sit at the kitchen table and talk about life and love.

After completing the cones, my grandpa put them back in the freezer, confusing my aunt.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

“The girls (meaning my sister and I) are coming over and they like ice cream when they get here.”

To which my aunt said, “You know… I like ice cream.”

“Well you know where the damn ice cream is.” And then he left the room.

Hawks was tough, but underneath the gruffness, mean comments and smoke, there was a grandfather who loved his grandkids…and of course his children too even if he didn’t always show it.

My grandpa died on September 10, 2001. And, every year, one day after that, he consumes a lot of my thoughts because I miss him. I think about how he’d be towards me now and I have to say, a part of me wishes he’d be making special cones for my son… and telling me to get my own damn ice cream.