Some may remember my story about my grandfather a few weeks back. In summary:
I said to my father. “I never knew my grandfather.” He had died a few years before I was born.
And my father said, “You can meet him!”
Contrary to my first impression, he had not summoned his ghost or lost his mind. Among the many boxes in the shed of my grandparents’ things, there supposedly hid a novel my grandfather had written. But after a day of searching through mouse-eaten boxes, we never found it. Well, good news (he says in the Professor’s voice). My father has just found the novel (hidden in another box), as well as a play and several short stories of his. I’m looking forward to getting some insight into who he was. I also think it’s kind of cool that even though he masqueraded as a school principal, he was a closet artist.