"How do you think they got him to do that?"

My grandfather instilled in me wisdom and insight that far exceeds any college education, while also bringing joy and laughter to my days. I spent many hours at his house while my mother worked her second or third shift in a row at the local hospital. I obtained many of his tendencies during those baby-sitting stints, like how to conserve money, cook liver and onions, and enjoy classic cinema. One tendency I did not inherit, however, was his gullibility. 

            We referred to my grandfather as “Dick”, as that was his name. My grandmother would call out from the kitchen, “Dick, can you reach this pan for me?” or “Dick, where is my purse?” and from then on, me and my siblings just picked up to call him that, too.  

            As an industrious individual, he managed to help build the hospital he practiced at for fifteen years with eight other founding doctors. It sat at the end of the road from his house, with all of the other eight doctors living on the same col de sac, so they could walk to work efficiently. The hospital does not stand there anymore, as the construction of a new highway took most of the city’s residents to the other side of town, and hosting a building of that size didn’t make financial sense anymore.  According to him, much of the neighbourhood didn’t look the same anymore by the time me and my siblings came to visit. More trees and grass grew, and everyone took care to keep the street clean. But many of Dick’s neighbours moved or passed away, and he remained the last of the original 8 doctors. At this point, our visits with Dick become routine for each weekend. We contemplated if he needed professional assistance around the house. Moving across the house resulted in constant bruises as he bounced around furniture and bedroom doors. 

            Like always on our visits, the temperature of the house flamed at 93 degrees Fahrenheit, and his television set blared at its highest decibel. 

            “Daddy! Turn that down. Why is it so hot in here?” my mom shouted.

            “Well, I get cold all the time.”

            “Then cover yourself with a blanket, or wear your robe.”

            “Ah, it’s fine,” he’d mumble. He would adjust the TV, but we couldn’t touch the thermostat. 

            We all embraced for a hug, and sat around to discuss how school or dance lessons faired. After a few visits, we devised a scheme to have one of us distract him, while the other went into the other room to change the dial down to a reasonable number. 

            In the middle of one of our stories, I can’t remember what about, Dick shakes his hand at the mute TV screen and shouts, “Look, look!”

            We all turn to see a commercial for a hard lemonade brand, which featured a group of young adults partying on a boat at sea. One of the partygoers accidently spills their drink overboard. A fin emerges from the depths, and the jaws of a great white shark breach the water’s surface. Just when you expect it to attack, it stops, and takes a few sips of the spilled lemonade. And with the twist of fate, the shark becomes delightfully frisky, as it backflips around the boat. 

            “Look, Look!” my grandfather continues, “How do you think they got that shark to do that?” He hopped each time the shark went for another spin in the air. We all needed to pause for a moment, to try and understand what he meant.

            “How do you think they got that shark to do that?” He repeated, not looking away from the TV, even though the commercial had already passed onto the next one. 

            “It wasn’t real, daddy,” my mom told him, with a slight chuckle to her tone.

            “They had to have teach that shark how to do that like a dolphin.” He answered affirmatively. 

            “No Dick,” my sister and I interjected, “that was made by a computer, that shark wasn’t really there.”

            He didn’t seem to understand still, so I added, “It’s like a cartoon.” 

            He just nodded, like he understood the whole time and didn’t need us to explain, and continued mumbling under his breathe. We had to all look away from him though, because our giggles kept persisting. 

            It seemed that the pattern of convincing commercials didn’t end with that story. Another time we visited, a similar interaction occurred while we gathered around Dick’s television to watch an Astros game. My sister and I didn’t really care about the game, so we already had our minds invested in our phones about some new trivial teenage thing, when he called us for our attention.

            “Hey, hey, they shouldn’t do that,” he snapped.

            My sister and I looked up to see a commercial that already seemed familiar to us. Showcasing the HP printers ability to print photos straight from your phone, no matter how far away you where, this chubby checked baby rolled across America in their rolling jumper toy to the song Brand New Keys, by Melanie. Traversing from the Grand Canyon, pass highways, over interstates, until finally making it home, showing a smash cut to the printer discharging the photo.

            “They shouldn’t let that baby do that!” Dick would argue. This time, he should genuine concern, opposed to the fascination shown before for the shark commercial. “That isn’t safe, what they are doing!”

            “Dick, that wasn’t real, we promise.” We knew we had to reassure him, but we couldn’t help but laugh at his adamant protests at the TV.

            If I ever encountered people in our hometown that worked with him, they would always mention their admiration of his prowess and knowledge, and not just in matters of medicine. My grandfather travelled the world, and authored several medical textbooks, still used by thousands of students today. As for all of those strangers’ compliments, they still ring true, even years after his passing, but I also have to laugh at the memory of that same man watching amazed and confused at silly TV commercials.