selective hearing

My grandfather , or as I like to call him Paps , was one of a kind . He had big floppy ears that stuck out and ceased to work , every year they grew bigger and bigger .Paps also had too much pride to wear hearing aids , he noted that he didn't like how he looked with them  and they made him hear weird stuff . He had humongous bushy eyebrows ,each of which he could  raise up and down and he always had that one long brow hair sticking out of place . Paps had grey eyes that turned light blue in the sunlight , and a clean shaven beard. He refused to grow one , stating it would feel itchy every time he kissed my cheek . Paps was that star in the galaxy that shined brighter than the others , he was the chocolate flake of a 99 . Best of all , he was all mine . I was the only grandson and he often told me I was his favourite . Paps was also my dad , the real one left when milk turned stale , when his fizzy drink went flat , and when his leather shoes creased . Paps told me , I only ever needed one father . 

                                                            He  had a remarkable quality that sustained his happiness throughout his years .It's called  selective hearing . It's kinda like what men in white uniforms say while holding a stethoscope, to your chest , when one sense declines the other inclines  . Paps was losing his hearing but his vision grew stronger , when he heard weird stuff , he turned his vision on and decided to look for a good berry within a bowl of mushy , bruised and fluffy ones . He said it was a choice . At the time  Ma’ lost her job , he said it was a good sign , I was gonna see her more often at home and spend more time with her  . Whenever I failed chemistry, and had to repeat a year of school , he let me know I was gonna make more new friends and receive more free meals from the canteen . When Paps car wheel stopped running , he smiled and told me he needed to lose some weight anyway and up his steps . Moments when Ma got upset over the weather lady informing the city that a flood , cold , and rain was on its way , Paps declared it was about time we had a  movie night and our dry flower pots were in need of watering . 

                                              Over the years I saw him less often .I grew into his big leather boots , I made my own money , I could buy my own glass milk bottles  and juice boxes .Later  I had my own flat in Seattle , a full time job ,my own truck and a girlfriend . I was working long hours researching with my team for  the best  elixir to happiness . Days were mushy , fluffy , bruised like dem berrys , inflation rose higher  like Paps eyebrows , and salaries decreased . Work was sparse like his beard , the mood of peeps in town was grey like his eyes . We were desperate to put something on the market to make people turn their frowns upside down . We tried all kinds of combinations of dopamine , serotonin , endorphin , but the chemicals would not  balance and our research grew fatter paychecks . 

One afternoon , we chatted upon a payphone , he told me “ dem men in uniforms said  some weird stuff ,they said  I was gonna get a cool new buzz cut and that I was gonna spend more time and dem clean buildings and I would have a whole new bed and a nice new dressing gown , the kind that don't cover your behind “ .Before I could prolong our conversation , I had reached into my pocket and realised I had ran out of pennies  ,and our call ended .Ma later translated it to , “ Son , yo Paps has got that disease , the one that  causes unhappiness , it starts with c and rhymes with dancer . It would be best for you to come visit , sooner than later “ . 

                                       I visited him almost every weekend. As the treatment progressed , his ears stuck out less ,and they drooped downwards . His eyebrows turned diagonal with concern , things were looking stale , flat and creased . I pondered when I would last hear or see him again . 

On a warm July Sunday afternoon, I sat next to him softly , and held his wrinkled frail hand. It wasn't the same hand he had used to help me steer the wheel for the first time , or the hand that pushed me on a bike . with each drip his  eyes turned whiter . I had told him that Trish my girl had broken up with me and left me for some dude she met at a corner store .Paps snickered and replied , “ Son , I knew she wasn't the one ,the moment I saw her buying cartoned milk, everybody knows it tastes better in glass .Either way she was a nice girl but you's a nicer boy , now you can focus on that project of yours “  

Our eye met as I said “ Paps I don't think there is such a thing as happiness , maybe that's why my old man  Da’ left “ 

“ Son , men don't leave , boys do , happiness existed even before I came onto the earth , long before that train appeared on cinema screens  . The boy got overwhelmed with hearing weird stuff and he kept focusing on all dem bad berries . It started off as a choice then it became that thing that starts with L and rhymes with textile“

“ You mean lifestyle ? “ 

“ That's right son , once you get yo boots stuck in the mud , it's hard to get them out , I'm not saying  it's impossible ,but it sure is difficult “ he raised one of his eyebrows and his long brow hair flicked outwards . 

“ But what about you , surely you're unhappy , what will I do without you  ? “ 

“ I'm not going anywhere “ he reached out and pointed to the left side of my chest “you won’t see me or hear me but  i'll be right there ,“

That night his ears stopped growing, he went to that place that starts with h and rhymes with seven  . Paps was an intelligent man , he could tell from a mile away whether one's boots were real leather , he didn't need a pocket watch to tell the time ,he taught himself how to change tires , fix electricity wires with no schooling .That night when he told me I wasn't gonna see or hear him , was the only time he was ever wrong . . When it rained , I saw him setting up the cassettes , when my red truck broke down I heard him talking about walking and exercising. When I saw Trish with her new boyfriend , I saw his eyes turn blue at the sight of her milk cartons . When Ma’ and I cried at the funeral , we could smell his aftershave  and feel his once firm hand on our shoulders . Paps didnt need no drugs to stay happy . He had only a few pence to his name , a broken family , barely an acre of land , even when he lay in his casket he seemed to be smiling . He was the happiest father alive and dead . You can buy unhappiness at the corner store or from some fella down an alleyway , but the elixir lies within a bowl of mushy , bruised , fluffy berries and only peeps with selective hearing can spot the nicest  berry .