One crazy family

I’m dealing with my dad’s parents right now, and it’s quite the show. My grandmother has middle to late stage Alzheimers, so she’s barely there anymore. My grandfather, on the other hand, is quite the character. Maybe you’ll find him as amusing as I do.

He seems to live up to all of those stereotypes of the foul-mouthed old war veteran. He still has all of his medals from World War II on proudly displayed in his office. And he’s just so damned cynical — I’ve never really met anyone else quite like him. A lot of my friends may act cynical, but my grandpa lives it.

We were at dinner and it ran a bit late and he realized he was going to miss the re-airing of the Lawrence Welk Christmas song broadcast, which he still fondly enjoys. His simple response was, “That’s okay, I’m used to shit happening to me.” He was also talking about this latest scientific study where the researchers tried measuring any effect from over six thousand people praying. His conclusion based off the report was, “You need a damned lot more people praying than that to make a difference.” He went on to say a simple statement that rings true to me — “Nobody’s in charge.”

I guess you can see where I got my atheism from. My grandmother was once religious, but she’s now too out of it to understand much of it. My grandfather is way too damn cynical to believe in any of it. And on my mother’s side (who are all Jewish), my grandfather was a socialist radicalist labor union organizer. He was more inclined to believe that religion was the opiate of the masses to believe in it. So although my dad was raised somewhat religious, he kind of escaped from it over time. My mom would go to synagogue occasionally, but I guess didn’t buy into much of it. Neither made any attempt to indoctrinate me into religion in my youth, so here I am, in the default believing position; that is to say, none.

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