So I have wanted to write/make something to sort of express my relationship with my grandfather. I had this idea for a short, it would be a narrative, with only extreme close ups. no full face shots, maybe mouth talking, hands moving, and the process i guess you would call it of smoking a cigar (read script it will make sense). But I am a total rookie here. I think I can capture the visual side of it, but I would like the writing to be better than it is. So here it is let me know what you think. I am shooting for under 5 minutes but more than one. Sorry for lame spelling:
Cigars:
Growing up my grandfather was always a figure of inaccessibility. Whenever we would load up the family in the 1984 GMC suburban to pay my grandparents a visit my grandmother was your tipical if not a bit overbearing, grandmother. She bought us cheezey “outfits” and would demand we wear them to all family gatherings, bribe us with candy, and generally do the grandmother thing. But my grandfather never stepped into that roll. He refused to be called granpa and opted for the coined name “Big Dad” to replace the old sounding Grandpa. The only time I ever really remember interacting with him growing up was during the 4th of July when he would smoke BBQ ribs and let us pop open one of his signal flares left over from his days as a PBY pilot in the Pacific theatre during WWII. For the longest time that is all I ever associated with him, eating his BBQ ribs then proceeding to puke them back up after inhaling way to much smoke from the annual signal flare. But that all changed in the course of one evening. When I was 12 years old I was up to my grandparent’s farm for dinner with my family and as always directly after dinner the men would go out to the garage for cigars and the women and children would do the dishes and prepare dessert. But that evening my grandfather asked me “son you joining us in the garage”? I didn’t even get to craft a reply before he was disappearing behind the garage door. Full of myself I traipsed along behind him wondering what was in store. Well turns out the first time in the garage was a lot like the signal flare on the fourth of July, I was really excited and ended up sick. But that night was the first time I ever talked to my grandfather. The first time I ever shared a common interest, learned that he used to work on computers, the first time he ever put his arm around my shoulder, and I found out he was the smartest man I would ever meet.
Family dinner at my grandparents took on a whole new meaning. Every time after dinner the “men” would trip out to the garage for some post dinner libations. And during that time I learned more about Big Dad and Big Dad learned about me. During my teenage years my relationship with my grandfather grew and he actually took an interest in my life. He gave me advice, taught me about woodworking, cigars, shooting guns, and drinking liquor. All of this under the auspice of smoking cigars. We smoked a lot of types of cigars, he was partial to Padrons, but one cigar we often would enjoy was the JR Ultimate. To me I though the more expensive the better but, he explained to me that it was not what was on the wrapper, it what was in the wrapper that made the difference. Years later my grandfather was diagnosed with acute leukemia. After fighting for 4 months in the hospital he was home for about a week in early December. I was over with my family for the afternoon. I could tell Big Dad was in a lot of pain, he was talking less than normal, the toll of chemotherapy were evident all over his body. Finally he said from his recliner “to hell with it boys let go to the garage”. By brothers and I dutifully went out into the garage and enjoyed a smoke. That was the only time I ever saw my grandfather not finish his cigar. But after about 45 minutes we were all finished up and it was time go home. We said our goodbyes and strangely my grandfather hugged us. That was the second time I could ever remember my grandfather touching me. I left the next day for a conference in Reno and received the phone call I never wanted to hear. Big Dad had succumbed to the leukemia. The instant I heard the news my mind flashed back to the last time I saw him and said goodbye for what I though was a few days after smoking a cigar. On the drive home from Reno I realized that the first and last meaningful thing I ever did with Big Dad was enjoying a cigar.
To me smoking is more than just a cigar, it’s a smoke. It takes me back to the relaxing days in my grandfathers garage growing up, and for a moment puts Big Dad back into my life just a little bit. No matter where I am enjoying my cigar, I am enjoying much more than just the cigar. I am enjoying life.
When my son is of the age to join the men in the garage share with him one of the great joys in my life; a fine cigar.
Thanks for looking
Tren
Cigars:
Growing up my grandfather was always a figure of inaccessibility. Whenever we would load up the family in the 1984 GMC suburban to pay my grandparents a visit my grandmother was your tipical if not a bit overbearing, grandmother. She bought us cheezey “outfits” and would demand we wear them to all family gatherings, bribe us with candy, and generally do the grandmother thing. But my grandfather never stepped into that roll. He refused to be called granpa and opted for the coined name “Big Dad” to replace the old sounding Grandpa. The only time I ever really remember interacting with him growing up was during the 4th of July when he would smoke BBQ ribs and let us pop open one of his signal flares left over from his days as a PBY pilot in the Pacific theatre during WWII. For the longest time that is all I ever associated with him, eating his BBQ ribs then proceeding to puke them back up after inhaling way to much smoke from the annual signal flare. But that all changed in the course of one evening. When I was 12 years old I was up to my grandparent’s farm for dinner with my family and as always directly after dinner the men would go out to the garage for cigars and the women and children would do the dishes and prepare dessert. But that evening my grandfather asked me “son you joining us in the garage”? I didn’t even get to craft a reply before he was disappearing behind the garage door. Full of myself I traipsed along behind him wondering what was in store. Well turns out the first time in the garage was a lot like the signal flare on the fourth of July, I was really excited and ended up sick. But that night was the first time I ever talked to my grandfather. The first time I ever shared a common interest, learned that he used to work on computers, the first time he ever put his arm around my shoulder, and I found out he was the smartest man I would ever meet.
Family dinner at my grandparents took on a whole new meaning. Every time after dinner the “men” would trip out to the garage for some post dinner libations. And during that time I learned more about Big Dad and Big Dad learned about me. During my teenage years my relationship with my grandfather grew and he actually took an interest in my life. He gave me advice, taught me about woodworking, cigars, shooting guns, and drinking liquor. All of this under the auspice of smoking cigars. We smoked a lot of types of cigars, he was partial to Padrons, but one cigar we often would enjoy was the JR Ultimate. To me I though the more expensive the better but, he explained to me that it was not what was on the wrapper, it what was in the wrapper that made the difference. Years later my grandfather was diagnosed with acute leukemia. After fighting for 4 months in the hospital he was home for about a week in early December. I was over with my family for the afternoon. I could tell Big Dad was in a lot of pain, he was talking less than normal, the toll of chemotherapy were evident all over his body. Finally he said from his recliner “to hell with it boys let go to the garage”. By brothers and I dutifully went out into the garage and enjoyed a smoke. That was the only time I ever saw my grandfather not finish his cigar. But after about 45 minutes we were all finished up and it was time go home. We said our goodbyes and strangely my grandfather hugged us. That was the second time I could ever remember my grandfather touching me. I left the next day for a conference in Reno and received the phone call I never wanted to hear. Big Dad had succumbed to the leukemia. The instant I heard the news my mind flashed back to the last time I saw him and said goodbye for what I though was a few days after smoking a cigar. On the drive home from Reno I realized that the first and last meaningful thing I ever did with Big Dad was enjoying a cigar.
To me smoking is more than just a cigar, it’s a smoke. It takes me back to the relaxing days in my grandfathers garage growing up, and for a moment puts Big Dad back into my life just a little bit. No matter where I am enjoying my cigar, I am enjoying much more than just the cigar. I am enjoying life.
When my son is of the age to join the men in the garage share with him one of the great joys in my life; a fine cigar.
Thanks for looking
Tren