Episode One: The Beginning
Welcome to the origin story of The Chronicles of the Dude's Traveling Flannel Shirts.
How do I begin? I could start with my birth I suppose. It all started in the year 2000, but that sounds a bit pretentious. I could even start with my grandfather's birth, but I'm not sure that would quite fit either. I could start with the love that forms when two completely unique people start to understand each other. Now I like the idea of that.
It all started when two very different people were related. In the history of everything, I must guess that this happens extremely often. Nevertheless, I am certain that had my grandpa been some random man, we would never have shared more than a fleeting glance. However, as fate would have it, my grandpa is one of the most gentle, caring, loving, and understanding people in my life.
We just have a way that works. One of our quirks is that I don't actually call him "grandpa." I called him "Dude" one day, and he just rolled with it. Ever since then, he hugs me and chuckles deeply when I lovingly refer to him as "Dude." My grandparents live out in the country, so Dude taught me how to drive a four-wheeler at about age six. I was driving his PT cruiser around the farm by the time I was 14. He has taught me to lathe wood. My brother and I have matching candle stick holders. Dude taught me how to play Go Fish on the computer. I would always change his avatar to something girly, but when I came back his face would be restored. Back in my town, he visits for sporting events, birthdays, and random dinners. He may not relate to my fashion sense, art-covered walls, or affinity for pet fish, but my grandpa loves me all the same.
Dude once came up to my house to watch one of my siblings' games. I got cold halfway through and so he lent me his flannel right off his back. It was so toasty, I didn't want to take it off. I discretely kept it when he left and told him I'd give it to him next time. Dude didn't care because I am his granddaughter. Though he did not know what just started, he chuckled his deep laugh and went on his way.
A year later, I have now acquired three of his flannels. His gentle, caring, loving, and understanding nature is stored in the fibers of these flannels. If I have a bad day, I simply cuddle in my grandpa's arms. The adventure I have come to enjoy is taking his flannels places. Dude doesn't leave the state often, so when I flew out west this past summer, he came with me. His flannels have had such wondrous adventures, but I'll have to save those for another tale.
This is has been the beginning of the Lessons about Life, Lunacy, and Laughter Through the Eyes of a Curious Granddaughter.
How do I begin? I could start with my birth I suppose. It all started in the year 2000, but that sounds a bit pretentious. I could even start with my grandfather's birth, but I'm not sure that would quite fit either. I could start with the love that forms when two completely unique people start to understand each other. Now I like the idea of that.
It all started when two very different people were related. In the history of everything, I must guess that this happens extremely often. Nevertheless, I am certain that had my grandpa been some random man, we would never have shared more than a fleeting glance. However, as fate would have it, my grandpa is one of the most gentle, caring, loving, and understanding people in my life.
We just have a way that works. One of our quirks is that I don't actually call him "grandpa." I called him "Dude" one day, and he just rolled with it. Ever since then, he hugs me and chuckles deeply when I lovingly refer to him as "Dude." My grandparents live out in the country, so Dude taught me how to drive a four-wheeler at about age six. I was driving his PT cruiser around the farm by the time I was 14. He has taught me to lathe wood. My brother and I have matching candle stick holders. Dude taught me how to play Go Fish on the computer. I would always change his avatar to something girly, but when I came back his face would be restored. Back in my town, he visits for sporting events, birthdays, and random dinners. He may not relate to my fashion sense, art-covered walls, or affinity for pet fish, but my grandpa loves me all the same.
Dude once came up to my house to watch one of my siblings' games. I got cold halfway through and so he lent me his flannel right off his back. It was so toasty, I didn't want to take it off. I discretely kept it when he left and told him I'd give it to him next time. Dude didn't care because I am his granddaughter. Though he did not know what just started, he chuckled his deep laugh and went on his way.
A year later, I have now acquired three of his flannels. His gentle, caring, loving, and understanding nature is stored in the fibers of these flannels. If I have a bad day, I simply cuddle in my grandpa's arms. The adventure I have come to enjoy is taking his flannels places. Dude doesn't leave the state often, so when I flew out west this past summer, he came with me. His flannels have had such wondrous adventures, but I'll have to save those for another tale.
This is has been the beginning of the Lessons about Life, Lunacy, and Laughter Through the Eyes of a Curious Granddaughter.
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