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lift his hand <strong>to</strong> the height of his head and<br />
push the space in front of him as if he were<br />
pushing us away. At the same time, he’d<br />
turn his face away as if disgusted.<br />
The whole series of actions <strong>to</strong>ok only a<br />
second and was a normal part of conversation<br />
with him. When his face turned back<br />
<strong>to</strong>ward us, his gaze would be intense and<br />
he might offer a harsh explanation for his<br />
disapproval or he might just let the gesture<br />
stand by itself. In moments of clarity, I<br />
could discern a twinkle in his eye that<br />
acknowledged humor in the gesture, but<br />
there was an unmistakable honesty <strong>to</strong> it<br />
as well. I’m sure my wife and I, in our<br />
unabashed enthusiasm for the new and<br />
weird, shared some thoughts that deserved<br />
the brushoff. At other times, I’m sure his<br />
disapproval was without merit. But our<br />
interactions with him lacked full emotional<br />
intimacy. There was an unspoken agreement<br />
that we would get only so close <strong>to</strong><br />
avoid heated arguments. It would have<br />
been difficult for us <strong>to</strong> be truly intimate<br />
with him.<br />
After we bought our first house last<br />
year, Grand-Jack called and said he wanted<br />
<strong>to</strong> see only me. This was unprecedented.<br />
Of course, I anticipated that he<br />
was going <strong>to</strong> give us some kind of gift for<br />
the house. As I sat on the sofa looking up<br />
at him, he asked how much closing costs<br />
were. I <strong>to</strong>ld him about $4000. From his<br />
pocket he produced a fat bank envelope,<br />
thrust it in front of me and demanded,<br />
“Count it.” It contained forty $100 bills.<br />
After receiving my deep appreciation,<br />
he explained he was giving the money<br />
<strong>to</strong> me because he didn’t like the way his<br />
granddaughter handled money. (I had <strong>to</strong><br />
agree she sometimes prioritized things I<br />
also felt were nonessential!) This transaction<br />
opened a new level of relationship<br />
between us. No longer did I feel that he<br />
was just Jasmin’s cranky granddad whom<br />
I visited out of respect for her. I now<br />
felt an independent obligation <strong>to</strong> him<br />
because of the generous gift.<br />
After the move, our family no longer<br />
lived as close <strong>to</strong> Grand-Jack, but my job<br />
was still a few minutes away so I checked<br />
in on him more by myself. For five or<br />
six months, I visited Grand-Jack almost<br />
weekly. I dropped off war movies and dramas<br />
(he was partial <strong>to</strong> Denzel Washing<strong>to</strong>n)<br />
I borrowed for him from the library and<br />
would go by the next week <strong>to</strong> pick them<br />
up. We had some nice conversations during<br />
those visits. It was easier <strong>to</strong> talk <strong>to</strong><br />
him when my wife wasn’t around. A few<br />
months before he passed I asked what he<br />
thought happened after death. He <strong>to</strong>ld me<br />
nothing happened: this was it. No life, no<br />
thought, no awareness after death. I had <strong>to</strong><br />
give him credit for consistency. Even staring<br />
death in the face, he refused <strong>to</strong> give in <strong>to</strong><br />
what he considered sentimentality. I shared<br />
my view of the eternal life of the soul and<br />
the process of reincarnation allowing us <strong>to</strong><br />
evolve in<strong>to</strong> perfect union with our Crea<strong>to</strong>r.<br />
He was silent. Maybe he was <strong>to</strong>o weak or<br />
tired <strong>to</strong> give me the brushoff—or maybe a<br />
part of him hoped I was right.<br />
The dozen or so family and friends who<br />
gathered at our home following his burial<br />
showed me another side of Grand-Jack.<br />
There was the man who loved flashy cars,<br />
who loved <strong>to</strong> ride horses; who, even after<br />
the estrangement from his daughter, used<br />
<strong>to</strong> take younger family members <strong>to</strong> see<br />
the Blue Angels. But despite his success<br />
overcoming racism, in the end it was his<br />
allegiance <strong>to</strong> patriarchy and its <strong>to</strong>xic residue<br />
that kept breaking his heart.<br />
Sometimes, alone with Grand-Jack, I<br />
shared my own marriage challenges as I<br />
did with other male friends. It was clear he<br />
had no s<strong>to</strong>mach for the dance of intimacy<br />
I was engaged in with his granddaughter;<br />
I believe at times he wanted <strong>to</strong> advise me<br />
<strong>to</strong> divorce her. Yet I hope he also saw the<br />
joy and deep communion that’s grown<br />
through our trials and apogees. Now and<br />
then, when I feel like Grand-Jack and just<br />
want <strong>to</strong> walk away, I see him with the walls<br />
around his heart, and I take a deep breath<br />
and listen <strong>to</strong> love. VM<br />
Haji Shearer is happily married (most of<br />
the time) <strong>to</strong> Jack Davis’s granddaughter,<br />
Jasmin. They live with their teenage son<br />
and preteen daughter. Haji leads workshops<br />
for men and couples and is co-producing a<br />
documentary film, Reconcilable Differences:<br />
Men Learning <strong>to</strong> Love, <strong>to</strong> be released in<br />
early 2006.<br />
FALL 2005 •<br />
15