I never had any grandfathers of my own. My father’s father died so long ago that I don’t even know the decade; my mother’s father died when she was pregnant with me.
My husband, on the other hand, was gifted with a kick-ass Zedye that he was kind enough to share, at least for a little bit. We spent an afternoon cruising around Detroit, in one of those old steel-box American cars, cars so long that seem to take up the entire block. Cars that don’t even have a word in their language for “hatchback.”
I had a list of old crumbling buildings to see and Zedye was willing to humor me, but for him, the point of the trip was the Fischer Building.
I took over 600 pictures on that trip to Detroit, at least 100 of the Fischer building; it is by far the sight to see.
The security guards teased me about how many pictures I was taking; that they were going to charge me $20 a photo. Zedye was having none of it. They couldn’t charge me because he was older than the Fischer building.
It was an argument brilliant in its irrationality and its simplicity. He was, in fact, older. He even showed his driver’s licence to prove it. Yet, being older didn’t prove anything. Zedye was just feisty like that.