Grandpa Wants You to Join the Army

It’s that time of week again: What Would Grandpa Do Wednesday!

On another seemingly normal afternoon, I’m sitting in my living room and my mother gets a phone call. It’s the police. Because Red had been getting into trouble lately, naturally she thought, “You've got to be kidding me. What did he do now…”

Well this time was a little different.

There is a park in our town with a brook running through it - about 20-25 ft wide. Apparently, on this seemingly normal afternoon, Red decided to try and ‘jump it.’ And, that he did.

He made it across, but upon landing he slipped in the mud and fell backwards, falling headfirst into the three-inch-deep, stone-lined brook. He was knocked unconscious, mumbled some weird things and was rushed to the head trauma wing of the hospital.

Most of my family raced to the hospital worried and concerned about Red’s well being.

Grandpa did too, but Grandpa was feeling a much different emotion: He was PISSED.

He was not so much concerned about Red’s injury, but more concerned with how Red got the injury. Why was he trying to jump across a brook? in the local park? in broad daylight?

When I got to the hospital, Red was lying in bed in a neck brace, heavily sedated and looking horrible.

Grandpa was already there.

He asked me what happened and then turns to Red—who is in-and-out of consciousness:

“That’s it!! Your going into the Army!” He yells, trailing off… “I’m gunna sign him up! This is bullshit!”

“Grandpa, he's unconscious,” I reply. “He can’t hear you. And, he has a head injury. He can’t go into the army now”

“When he wakes up he is going in the army!!!”

Well… Red woke up, he’s fine now, and he is not in the army.

Long story short, falling while jumping across a brook is equivalent to being arrested for drug possession in Grandpa’s book… and warrants being shipped off to the army for some discipline.

Oh, how I love Grandpa.