Just a Kid.

Every now and again I forget that being a child is different than being an adult. I remember during sixth grade I thought everything around me was childish. I thought being a child was a bad thing  – it was just an excuse to do stupid things and get away with it. Funny thing was I was technically still a kid at the time.



Whenever my brother does something I don’t like, I almost immediately try to stop him. My parents hate it when I do that. I don’t blame them; I’m pretty harsh when it comes to my brother’s antics. They keep telling me I did the exact same things he’s doing now when I was young.



Sometimes I forget I was a child once too.



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God, Grandpa’s annoying!


He came over today because I just got my first Eucharist. I had a huge party with all my friends and classmates, and it was so much fun! I don’t see what the big deal is, though. My mom and dad have Eucharist every time we go to church, why is it such a big deal with me? It’s my first, I know, but still.



We were in the pool, but it was getting boring so I get out. Mom and Dad have some food out, so I take as much as I can. I like eating! I run inside, get my Legos, and start making another plane. I like doing that, too. This one’s going to have torches on its wings, and a couch, and blocks, and an umbrella…



My mom’s telling me I gotta stay outside so I can dry off. I was just getting into it too! Grandpa comes up and tells me that I have too much on my plane. He tries to take off one of the torches – that was the best part of the plane!– and I screamed for him to not touch it. But he does it anyway! He never listens to me! And he laughs at me too! He is the worst grandpa ever!



I know that’s mean, but it’s true! He keeps bugging me about everything! And he never wants to do anything with me when I want him to either, so he’s boring too. That makes him lame –  he’s the lamest grandpa ever!



He laughs too when I tell him that. I tell myself not to laugh, but I do anyway. I always laugh when he laughs. I don’t like that I’m laughing now though. I’m angry! He touched my plane! I said for him not to touch it! I try to tell Mom that he did, but she laughs too! Why is everyone laughing? That was my plane! I made it, and he ruined it! Mom tells me I can remake it, but it isn’t the same if I do that!



Mom put me in time-out for an hour after that, and now it’s time to say goodbye to Grandpa. I really really don’t wanna, but I also don’t wanna be put in time-out again, so I do it anyway. When I do, my mom tells me to do it again and hug him. I do that, and Grandpa says he’ll miss me. I say that too, and I try to mean it for my mom. Once that door shuts, I’m remaking the plane he ruined.



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A week after my First Communion, my parents told me my grandpa died of a stroke.



I should have felt sad. Whenever someone dies, it’s a sad thing. It should be even worse that he’s my grandpa but I didn’t feel anything. My grandpa just died, and I didn’t feel anything. Of course I was just a kid, but I should have felt something when they told me he was gone.



“You were the last of the family he saw before he passed away,” my mother said. That should have made me feel sad too but I didn’t feel anything then either. I know why, too: I just didn’t care about him. I didn’t see him as often as any of the rest of my family. I didn’t like him at all. In fact, I thought he was a pain in the ass. I only learned so much later that he was amazing.



I never got a chance to see that.



My parents told me we were going to go to his funeral in a week in Chicago. That meant I would miss class. That was the only part of the conversation I actually liked. I was a kid, after all; I only cared about things that benefitted me, and that meant I could skip school. God, I loved it when my parents said that.



When I got home, I didn’t think about Grandpa at all. I just did my homework like a good little boy and went away to play the instant I was done. For some reason though, I wasn’t all that happy about it like usual. It just felt like a chore – an obligation, maybe.



I didn’t put any of the torches on the plane. It just didn’t feel right.



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I’ve never been to a funeral before.



I learned last week what a funeral was. It’s a party people throw when someone dies, but it’s not really a party. Parties are supposed to be happy, but this funeral party is really sad. My mom says that if I come I’ll get to see Grandpa one last time before he’s buried. I’m coming already, so I don’t get why she said that.



It’s raining hard now. When something sad happens on TV, it rains. Maybe God’s trying to say that this is sad, too. But I don’t feel sad – well, not very sad, I only feel kinda sad. I think it’s the rain. Or maybe it’s because Mom and Dad are sad. All my aunts and uncles with me are sad, too.



Mom asks if I want to be with Dad during the funeral. I’d like to say no, but I don’t think that would be very nice, so I say yes. She asks if I’m sure, and again I say yes. I really really want to play video games now, but I can’t because Mom says that would be rude. I even asked really nicely, too!



We all get out of the limo and walk to the church. There’re a lot of people I don’t know that are here. Mom says they’re all friends of Grandpa. We’re a bit late, so we had to walk real silent into the church. I peek into the room where all the people at, and I see Grandpa sitting in a box.



The last thing I said was I hated him, and now he’s dead!



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He’s dead! I hated him, I hated him and now he’s dead! I’m sorry, Grandpa, I’m so so sorry! I don’t really think you’re mean, or that I hate you, or that I never want to see you again! I was just a kid, a stupid damned kid that didn’t know how much you meant to me! Please, please come back and say you forgive me, please! But I can’t say sorry now, he’s dead and he can’t listen! I want to take the day he came to my house and do it all over again! Please, just laugh for me one more time! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…



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I missed the funeral. When I started crying, Mom took me into a different room and sat with me. I think it was three hours that I’ve been in there. I didn’t even know it was that long. I feel really bad now. I don’t wanna be here. I just wanna go home, but Mom says I have to stay for the burial. I can’t say no, so I don’t say anything.



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My cousin showed me a new video game the day before the funeral.



While my family and I were driving towards the cemetery, I begged my mom if I could play it while I was there. She said no, but I kept asking and asking because I really wanted to play it. Eventually she gave it to me, probably to shut me up. I was so happy when she caved in.



I don’t remember the burial at all. I was too busy playing the video game. It was a Mario one for the Gameboy Advance. I actually have the game now, somewhere. The last time I tried playing it, I absolutely hated it. I honestly couldn’t see why I liked it so much. Maybe if I were five again I would know.



My mom told me to put it away at the final moment they put the coffin into the ground. Of course, I just complained about it, said I was almost done, that I couldn’t pause it, whatever. I only got a quick glimpse of the coffin and heard a few words I didn’t understand at the time. Once it was all over, I was just so damn happy about it.



It doesn’t matter what happened after that. I just kept playing that damn game until I had to return it to my cousin. Then we went back to California, I went back to school, and did whatever I did then. It doesn’t matter; I was just a child doing childish things. I know that shouldn’t be a problem, but it is to me. And I know why, too.



I didn’t care about Grandpa at all.


I was just a kid. I didn’t know.