Yesterday, 02:54 AM
Stone always knew his PeePaw was a little different.
Most grandfathers spent their retirement fishing, watching westerns, or complaining about the government.
Not PeePaw.
PeePaw spent his retirement sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, wearing nothing but a bathrobe, cowboy boots, and an unsettling smile.
Every Sunday, Stone visited the family homestead.
And every Sunday, PeePaw greeted him with the same words:
"Well, well, well. If it ain't the prettiest grandson this side of the Mississippi."
"PeePaw, please stop calling me pretty."
"Can't help what the Lord blessed me with, boy. These eyes still work."
Stone sighed.
One afternoon, Stone arrived to discover that PeePaw had prepared a candlelit dinner.
Two plates.
A bottle of sparkling grape juice.
And a Barry White CD playing on a stereo from 1987.
"PeePaw, where's Grandma?"
"At bingo."
"Why are there candles?"
"Power company's expensive."
"Why is Barry White playing?"
"Radio's broke."
"Then why is there a rose on my plate?"
PeePaw stared silently into the distance.
"Inflation."
Stone immediately stood up.
"I'm leaving."
PeePaw slowly rose from his chair.
"Stone, wait. There's something I've been meaning to tell you."
Stone froze.
"PeePaw, whatever you're about to say, please reconsider."
PeePaw took a deep breath.
"I've been trying to find the right words for years."
"PLEASE DON'T."
PeePaw reached into his bathrobe.
Stone screamed.
But PeePaw merely produced a small velvet box.
Inside was a golden pocket watch.
"Your great-grandfather gave me this. I wanted you to have it."
Stone exhaled.
"Oh. Wow, PeePaw. That's actually really sweet."
PeePaw smiled.
"Turn it over."
Engraved on the back were four words:
PROPERTY OF PEEPAW'S FAVORITE.
Stone stared at the watch.
PeePaw winked.
From somewhere in the house, Barry White began playing louder.
Stone ran.
To this day, nobody knows why PeePaw keeps a framed photograph of Stone on his nightstand.
Or why he refers to Thanksgiving as "our anniversary."
But one thing is certain.
Stone no longer visits PeePaw without a witness.
Most grandfathers spent their retirement fishing, watching westerns, or complaining about the government.
Not PeePaw.
PeePaw spent his retirement sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, wearing nothing but a bathrobe, cowboy boots, and an unsettling smile.
Every Sunday, Stone visited the family homestead.
And every Sunday, PeePaw greeted him with the same words:
"Well, well, well. If it ain't the prettiest grandson this side of the Mississippi."
"PeePaw, please stop calling me pretty."
"Can't help what the Lord blessed me with, boy. These eyes still work."
Stone sighed.
One afternoon, Stone arrived to discover that PeePaw had prepared a candlelit dinner.
Two plates.
A bottle of sparkling grape juice.
And a Barry White CD playing on a stereo from 1987.
"PeePaw, where's Grandma?"
"At bingo."
"Why are there candles?"
"Power company's expensive."
"Why is Barry White playing?"
"Radio's broke."
"Then why is there a rose on my plate?"
PeePaw stared silently into the distance.
"Inflation."
Stone immediately stood up.
"I'm leaving."
PeePaw slowly rose from his chair.
"Stone, wait. There's something I've been meaning to tell you."
Stone froze.
"PeePaw, whatever you're about to say, please reconsider."
PeePaw took a deep breath.
"I've been trying to find the right words for years."
"PLEASE DON'T."
PeePaw reached into his bathrobe.
Stone screamed.
But PeePaw merely produced a small velvet box.
Inside was a golden pocket watch.
"Your great-grandfather gave me this. I wanted you to have it."
Stone exhaled.
"Oh. Wow, PeePaw. That's actually really sweet."
PeePaw smiled.
"Turn it over."
Engraved on the back were four words:
PROPERTY OF PEEPAW'S FAVORITE.
Stone stared at the watch.
PeePaw winked.
From somewhere in the house, Barry White began playing louder.
Stone ran.
To this day, nobody knows why PeePaw keeps a framed photograph of Stone on his nightstand.
Or why he refers to Thanksgiving as "our anniversary."
But one thing is certain.
Stone no longer visits PeePaw without a witness.
