Elementary

He was always good with his hands. He could fix most anything with just a few simple tools. When his father, the Shaman, died, he fixed that too.

My grandfather was three quarter Native American Indian; only God knows what the other quarter was. I doubt it was human. He had a way about him that is hard to describe: dignified, never condescending, a twinkle in his eye, and a patience that seemed unnatural. Often he would take my hand and hold it firmly while he explained how something worked; could be a motor, how the tides flowed, or how to think five moves ahead in chess.

My burly father was mostly absent from my early life; he was too busy supporting the local bar. Not one to get inebriated, he simply enjoyed the atmosphere of the smoky pub over that of a loving home. Dad never abused me or subjected me to horrible things; mostly his abuse was simply not being there. If I ever needed him I always knew where I could find him, and he would proudly pick me up and spin me around while announcing to the other patrons; “Isn’t he a fine buck”. Dad was also gifted, but chose not to pursue it; at least not yet. Work was simply another four-letter word to him.

My grandfather had built our wood framed home. It had taken him years to complete, while other homes were designed and built in a much shorter time period. It wasn’t a large house, but the attention to detail was amazing.  He incorporated shelves under the stairs, deep windowsills that served as benches, and simple yet charming molding that wound it’s way from room to room without a visible seam. It was a home of warmth. Guests always remarked how much better they felt both physically and emotionally after their stay.

Our main pet was Silk, a tough, pretty, and loving Soft Coated Wheaton Terrier. When I was in fifth grade, and Kye in fourth, we spent one night under the stars: we spread blankets over a patch of the trodden corn field, built a small fire, and told ghost stories till we both fell asleep. When we awoke there was a small puppy curled tightly between us, all snuggled up in the blankets. Kye said her fur was the same color as the corn silk, thus her name. She was our protector from day one; she made it her duty that no harm come down upon us without her putting up a ferocious fight first. While she rarely barked, her deep, low growl tipped us off of danger more than once.