My Grandfather's a Drunk

MY GRANDFATHER, WHOSE NAME I SHARE, was one of the first millionaires in our little small fishing community. In the late 70's mind you that was a big accomplishment. He owned a large club that was big enough to host weddings, movie screenings, and large dances; a restaurant; a hotel/motel; and another restaurant besides. I remember getting off the school bus at the age of 7 or 8 and having this intense desire to explore his castle. He lived across the road from us so it wasn't much of a trip, and thinking back I don't ever remember my mother noticing my absence after the school bus would roll by....Interesting.

My grandfather was a raging alcoholic. I think half of his life was an intentional blur. I'm not even sure if he knew who I was, only that I would show up and pick through his things. He had a cat named Brutus, which wasn't taken care of that well. Soon after caring for this damn cat, I realized why Brutus wasn't well taken care of, Brutus wasn't a people person at all. When I would place the open tins of cat food into his bowl, he would claw and bite up and down my arm. Which leads me to believe either people pestered Brutus, or the cat itself was pure evil.

The most interesting place in my grandfather's castle would have to be the restaurant area. He had nets all over the ceiling and in these nets you would find crab pots, massive jigs, plastic lobster and crab. It was a very tacky thing to see. But at the same time it was different and it did add some character. One thing I should say about my grandfather is the fact he did always go all out, and he wasn't cheap when it came to the business or investing in the business. My father on the other hand bought one of his restaurants - an eight year olds advice on the matter was never taken into consideration - but did poorly due to the fact he wouldn't invest money into the pit.

His living area I remember had a very cool jukebox, right in the living room. I haven't seen one like it since, and I was fascinated with it. It even had a disco ball somewhere in the mix of this mechanical design. One bedroom, my aunts, was kept as is, because her life was flighty and God knows when she would be back again. It was as if she still lived there...and maybe she did come to think of it, but she was never around. The other room was my uncle Gary's, who was deceased when I was just a wee lad. It now housed an exercise bike, and that is all. The entire place smelled of smoke, there was tacky wall paper, pictures of long lost relatives, brown carpets, and the living space itself seemed like a musty old bar with lots of light.

I would appear around 4:00, the prime business time if you ask me, when people in the city rush out for cocktails, I'm assuming - but in a town of less than 5000 the place was usually empty. On occasion, I would catch my grandfather shaving or something, he would always look over and notice me, then mumble something under his breath like "fucking kid", I would never catch what he was saying most of the time.

Our relationship wasn't in very good standing if you ask me. Sometimes, when he was too drunk, and passed out behind the bar, I would serve beers (I was seven or eight remember) and work the cash. People though it was adorable and even if they wanted a more complicated drink, they would take pity on me and simplify the whole process - and the fact that Newfoundlander's can drink anything helps - ask Grandpa. I would walk home with a big bag full of tips at times, but my father would always have this stern look on his face, and guilt me into sharing it with my sister. "You're poor sister should get some of that, it wouldn't be nice to keep it all for yourself". But she didn't work for it!!! Story of her life, to get everything handed to her with little to no work done. She's still doing it now, but that is another story.