Meeting My Grandpa Wells Thursby

An old man in a tweed jacket stopped by to die I had never met him before, and had wondered why My sister and me were lured by candy in his pocket He showed us a watch and a tiny lady’s locket “Who is he?” we asked our mom, who was shocked at the door. She had thought this man was gone for good, and forever more. At one time, he was my Daddy, she told us. I’d better call my Sis. This was shocking to us too, they never spoke or reminisce. So this old dude’s my grandpa? I was surprised, but pleased. He sunk down on a chair, and spoke to me in a way that teased. His eyes were deep brown with golden flecks that danced a bit. To me, this old story teller was an amazing guy, a world hit! He stayed long enough to tell me about his short marriage. They did not have money for a wagon, horse or a carriage. She was part of the notorious Dalton gang he said at first. His stories were amazing; they quenched this grandchild’s thirst. A fedora hat, a brown Oldsmobile, and a tweed jacket is all We have left of him now, for he answered a homeward call. We would not even have that photo if he had not looked us up. Storytellers we are he told me; could I make this stuff up?