I had little blonde ringlets and an undeniably cute face. I was the only girl and had a fiery personality that still gets me in trouble to this day. When I think back, it’s mostly what I remember from being young. Being adored and doted on- a sense of confidence that I was unique and special. I floated through life because of him.

My grandpa, Pop-pop, a veteran of the Korean War with an intense fondness for whiskey and cigarettes. Towering over many at 6’3”, he was a man’s man in the realest sense of the phrase. He was a lineman that worked up on the telephone poles, old school uniform and all. He even saved a man’s life up there one day. Won an award for it too.

So what happened on October 3rd, 1995? I was born. And my grandpa was smitten. I was his little “sissy.” He had a propensity for me that he didn’t for my brown-headed cousins, his words, I swear. He would have done anything for me. I got an allowance I didn’t receive from my parents, rides to Chuck E. Cheese and Value City to buy toys whenever I wanted. He was my world and center of gravity. And at 5 years old, you don’t notice so much when he cusses at his wife for spilling milk, literally and figuratively. And you don’t notice so much when he screams at a stranger for cutting him off, because it’s not at you of course.

For years I lived in the bliss of having unconditional love and support from Pop-pop. And my mom let it happen, a coping mechanism I think.

So when he died, you can imagine, I was crushed when I found out the truth. The stories of him revving a chainsaw in a tree when he was drunk to scare the shit out of his family. Beating my grandma during fits of rage - all the time. Punching my aunt in the face when she didn’t listen. Talking to my mom in ways that no human being ever deserves. My sense of self smashed like a mirror in front of my face. All of a sudden that confident aura felt impossible to find. A feeling I could remember but never conjure to the surface again.

And that begins my story. And the relationship that eventually ended up defining my life. Because unfortunately, sometimes it takes three generations to learn lessons.

An elementary school girl crying in the front seat of her mom's Volvo.

Irreconcilable differences.

An affadavit, a subpoena, a courtroom.

The Civil Rights Movement.

A presentation turned promotion.

A proposal. An obituary.

The song that makes you sing, the song that makes you think.

A diploma.

A moment of laughter, an hour of crying.