run like hell

my grandad had three strokes, all within a year of each other. as a result of this, his personality changed entirely. don't be sad though- he no longer hates the world and yells about the coming of the kingdom. now he sneaks into his kitchen late at night and eats jam with a spoon right from the jar and likes to feed his dog one extra biscuit, even though she's on a diet.

he also likes to tell us stories.

before his strokes, he told us stories as well. stories about jesus and being poor and hardship, stories where there was no joy and no light. his stories are much different now. he tells us about stealing a cake just after coming to north america because his brothers wanted it. he tells us about the time he tripped and cut his lip open, but landed on a five dollar bill which was enough money to feed his family for weeks and to buy his mother a brooch.

he told us another story as we visited him on thanksgiving.

one day, as he was standing in an elevator, a man behinnd him gripped his shoulder, asked to be let by, and exited from the car, followed by a few other people.

that man was none other than elvis presley.

i think that somehow i am made cool by the fact that the king of rock and roll touched my grandfather's sport jacket in an unknown elevator back in the day,