The Perks of Being a Wallflower

cousins and my other great aunts because they don’t really have the bushes option, especially when it’s cold.
    I should mention that my dad usually just sits real quiet and drinks. My dad is not a big drinker at all, but when he has to spend time with my mom’s family, he gets “loaded,” as my cousin Tommy says. Deep down, I think my dad would rather spend the holiday with his family in Ohio. That way, he wouldn’t have to be around my grandfather. He doesn’t like my grandfather very much, but he keeps quiet about it. Even on the ride home. He just doesn’t think it’s his place.
    As the evening comes to an end, my grandfather is usually too drunk to do much of anything. My dad and my brother and my cousins carry him out to the car of the person who is least angry at him. It has always been my job to open doors for them along the way. My grandfather is very fat.
    I remember there was one time that my brother drove my grandfather back to the retirement home, and I rode along. My brother always understood my grandfather. He rarely got angry at him unless my grandfather said something mean about my mom or sister or made a scene in public. I remember it was snowing really hard, and it was very quiet. Almost peaceful. And my grandfather calmed down and started talking a different kind of talk.
    He told us that when he was sixteen, he had to leave school because his dad died, and someone had to support the family. He talked about the time when he had to go to the mill three times a day to see if there was any work for him. And he talked about how cold it was. And how hungry he was because he made sure his family always ate before him. Things he said we just wouldn’t understand because we were lucky. Then, he talked about his daughters, my mom and Aunt Helen.
    “I know how your mom feels about me. I know Helen, too. There was one time… I went to the mill… no work… none.… I came home at two in the morning… pissed and pissed… your grandmother showed me their report cards… C-plus average… and these were smart girls. So, I went into their room and I beat some sense into them… and when it was done and they were crying, I just held up their report cards and said… ‘This will never happen again.’ She still talks about it… your mother… but you know something… it never did happen again… they went to college… both of them. I just wish I could have sent them… I always wanted to send them… . I wish Helen could have understood that. I think your mother did… deep down… she’s a good woman… you should be proud of her.”
    When I told my mom about this, she just looked very sad because he could never say those things to her. Not ever. Not even when he walked her down the aisle.
    But this Thanksgiving was different. It was my brother’s football game, which we brought a VCR tape of for my relatives to watch. The whole family was gathered around the TV, even my great aunts, who never watch football. I’ll never forget the looks on their faces when my brother took the field. It was a mixture of all things. My one cousin works in a gas station. And my other cousin has been out of work for two years since he injured his hand. And my other cousin has been wanting to go back to college for around seven years. And my dad said once that they were very jealous of my brother because he had a shot in life and was actually doing something about it.
    But in that moment when my brother took the field, all that washed away, and everyone was proud. At one point, my brother made a very big play on third down, and everyone cheered even though some of us had already seen the game before. I looked up at my dad, and he was smiling. I looked at my mom, and she was smiling even though she was nervous about my brother getting hurt, which was strange because it was a VCR tape of an old game, and she knew he didn’t get hurt. My great aunts and my cousins and their children and everyone were also smiling. Even my sister. There were only two people who weren’t smiling. My grandfather and I.
    My grandfather was crying.
    The kind of crying that is quiet and a secret. The kind of crying that only I noticed. I thought about him going into my mom’s room when she was little and hitting my mom and holding up her report card and saying that her bad grades would never happen again. And I think now that maybe he meant my older brother. Or my sister. Or me. That he would make sure that he was the last one to