Grampa's Golden Pond
with
Grampa Jenkins
It's a real sad thing whenever you see
somebody start coming unraveled around the edges, but when it's your own
kin, it becomes a crying shame. Sometimes I like to think about the great
Charlie Chaplin, who I met when I was only knee high to a grasshopper. He
had troubles of his own, you know, but he never let his troubles trouble
him. I was the youngest member in the cast of 'The Apple Dumpling Gang', and
he had come to see a matinee performance at the Sistine Theater. He came
backstage to see me afterwards, and I was sitting alone in my dressing room
- not much more than a broom closet - feeling down in the dumps cause I had
nobody my age to play with.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Grampa," he
said, and then he did that funny little walk of his. "Don't you know the
world is your oyster?" And right there on the spot he composed that
wonderful tune of his. "Smile, though your heart is aching, smile, even
though it's breaking, when there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by." And
then he twirled his umbrella and was gone. Left me smiling, he did.
Well, no use beating around the Bush, about
the situation - my granddaughter Katy has gone completely around the bend. A
wackydoodle would probably be the right terminology to use in her case. A
brick short of a... whole bunch of bricks. And I'd been really looking
forward to breaking bread with her. We've been estranged ever since all that
nonsense with her gramma Gretchen getting mowed down. A real tragedy, to be
sure, but you've got to be able to get back on your feet and dust yourself
off. Like the little tramp said, "Light up your face with gladness, hide
every trace of sadness, although a tear maybe ever so near." Oh. That didn't
sound right, did it? I'm not calling Gretchen a little tramp, I'm referring
to the late, great Charlie Chaplin.
When I got to the address that Katy had given
me, the very first thing that I noticed was the total absence of any sort of
Mexican restaurant, whatsoever. I got out of my car and ambled around. I
knew this place! It was the Laughton park, where I used to split the
occasional bottle of cabernet with funnyman Jackie Vernon, back when we were
both starring in an off-Broadway revival of 'Guys and Dolls'. Well, I was of
two minds about this. Make that three minds. First, I was kind of relieved,
because I don't care that much about Mexican food. It's bad for my digestion
and makes me fart like the devil. Second, I was worried that Old Grampa
might have gotten himself a little turned around. I'm pretty spry, but I had
to acknowledge the possibility, so I fished my directions out of the car.
Nope, I wasn't befuddled, which befuddled me. Was my granddaughter playing
some kind of a mischievous trick on me? Then it hit me like a bolt out of
the blue. We were just a couple of miles from Mortimer's, my number one
favorite eatery in the world! You know, they even named a sandwich after me
over there.
Just about then I see Katy way off in the
distance, late as usual. I tried yelling at her, but she was busy yakking to
some unwholesome looking woman with bazooms the size of the pendulous orbs
of the late Ethel Merman. "Katy, Katy, it's grampa," I shouted, but to no
avail. Oh my gosh, what a walk that was to reach her.
As I got closer, I could swear I saw a
monkey. A dirty, filthy monkey, just like the one that bit me back in 1959,
right before I was ready to go on stage at the Ed Sullivan Show. To this day
I hold that monkey responsible for me losing my big break. This monkey was
one unpleasant surprise, I'll tell you that. I made a decision then and
there that I wasn't going to turn over grammas teeth so free and easy as
Katy was hoping. There's a lot of gold in those teeth.
And then another unpleasant surprise - a Taco
truck! Merciful heavens. I started ripping blasters at the very thought of
it. They did smell right good, though. The tacos, I mean, not my gaseous
emmisions. I decided to make the best of things, and gave my little girl a
big squeeze, causing her to retch with joy.
It didn't take long for me to realize that
Katy's buxom friend - I think her name was Olivia - had more than tacos on
her mind. Yes, she had those Grampa eyes, if you know what I mean. "Oh god,
I loved you in 'Two Mules for Sister Sarah'," she tells me, nearly knocking
me over with her massive love pillows. She bats her eyes and asks if I
really know Dick Van Patten. "Oh," says I, "the stories I could tell." And
then I proceed to.
Well, it's not long before Miss Katy starts
to get jealous because she's not the center of attention. Poor thing. "I
want my gramma's teeth," she whines. "You promised." I tell her to
just hold her damn horses, but she's feeling all full of herself and just
keeps on bellyaching. Then she tells me something that almost causes my ears
to fall right off my head. "Gramma
isn't dead," she says with a vicious little smile. Now that's a fine
howdy-do. Gretchen isn't dead? Nobody ever tells me anything.
My first reaction was
one of disbelief, but Katy showed me the business card from
the Jesus Saves
Discount Storage and Care Facility down on Longbranch Avenue, the seediest
little nursing home and cargo space outfit this side of Tijuana. I could of
sworn that woman was dead. She sure was messed up, but Katy insisted that
she was in 'a hopeful stasis', and I know Bob Hope lasted a long time in
that condition. I guess I should have stayed at home on that fateful night
and sorted thing out for myself, but I had a small but important part in the
off-Broadway revival of 'Damn Yankees', and the show must go on.
Ah, what a day. That girl is crazy. She
can keep her gramma if she wants, but she's not getting those teeth until I
get a heartfelt apology. What a long and trying day. I never did get a taco,
I find out that my wife is still alive, and after leaving Katy, I got lost
on the freeway while trying to get to Mortimer's.
|
