As History Repeats

"He's always been a selfish bastard,"
my dad says, gearing up
into the same story
as the last time
and the time
before,
whenever anybody brings up
my grandfather's selfish habits.
"He's always loved his Sno-Caps—"
(those cheap nonpareil chocolates)
"—ever since we were young.
We sat and watched him eat them,
and he never once offered to share.
The only difference nowadays
is that he feeds two mouths
instead of eight
and can buy the name brand.
It's the little things like that
that stick with you,
that show you the truth
about some people."

But on those rare exciting days
in idyllic red childhood summers
when I got to sleep over
at Grandma and Grandpa's,
ecstatic to sleep wrapped in blankets
on the floor of the same room
my father so detested
thirty years before,
I sat curled in front of the television
watching whatever
the History Channel had to offer
(my grandfather liked it,
and that was that,
there were no other channels
until he went to bed).
Grandpa would sit, bald, overweight,
the quiet sounds of the nonpareils
one by one disappearing into his mouth,
and halfway through
would wordlessly pass
a piece of chocolate to me
and go on watching television
as if it never happened.
The bitter dark chocolate
bit my childhood palate, but I didn't care,
for a wide-eyed child
absorbs everything his idols
show him is right,
however bitter.

Watching the huge steel-gray behemoths
of the United States Navy
sail out into a black-and-white sea
in grainy 1944 splendor
to the backdrop of some sunspotted geezer
rattling off facts
as proud as if he built them himself
still brings a bitter taste to my mouth.
But despite my grandfather's shortcomings
and his self-centric universe,
I have no bitter heart to match.
Sometimes all it takes
is enough time,
a quiet half-lit room
and a wide-eyed child
learning more from you
than the television.