A 1992 Ford F150, that was the truck my grandpa would pick me up in. The seats were brown, half leather and half cloth, and quite comfortable. The most remarkable thing about that truck was that it had two gas tanks. With the flip of a button, the needle would swing wild from E to F.

Every Saturday, Grandpa would pick me up. We had a ritual.

Waffle House was first. The seats there were often cold and always hard. It still fit me well enough to always bring me back. The folks there knew our order. Mine was a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich with hash browns topped with chili and cheese. His was the standard breakfast with sausage: eggs always sunny side up. 

I would take my seat back in his truck and we would drive to the grocery store. We would grab him a few freezer meals, cans of soup, and most importantly multiple cases of beer and cartons of cigarettes. My grandfather ate a lot of beer. In the moment, I didn’t know any better or realize how big of a problem he had; he was my grandpa and I loved him.

The house had a beware of dog sign on the front porch. “Best security sign you’ll ever have,” Grandpa would tell me. The reality was, looking back, security was really needed where my grandfather lived. For those in Kansas City, he lived off of Truman Road on the interior of the 435 loop. I did not realize the reality of the location until I was older.

Bugsy was the fiercest barking dog I have ever met. Mighty and powerful was Bugsy’s bark. Beware of dog! Most folks would never actually get to see Bugsy because his bark would scare them away, but if they could withstand the bark they would be greeted by the tiniest of dogs. You see, Bugsy was a chihuahua and overall pretty friendly.

When we made it inside the house, I would make multiple trips back and forth from the truck to the house. Cases of beer were heavy!

Grandpa wasn’t very mobile, so he would walk in and sit at the table. I would put the groceries away, do a little cleaning, and crush all of the beer cans.

After that, I would take a seat at the table with him. He spent 85% of his day sitting at that table. The legs of the chair were metal and cold on my calves when they would brush up against it. The chair had a small amount of padding on the bottom and back. The table had everything he needed for survival on it: cigarettes, a lighter, newspapers, an ashtray, scratcher tickets, and a koozie to keep his beer cold.

The radio was in the corner of the kitchen and was always on and tuned in to the Country music station, KFKF. At that time, it was still on AM radio. On Saturday mornings, they would play country golden oldies and let folks call in to request songs. I don’t remember the songs we requested, but I remember the joy that entranced me when I heard my voice on the scratchy AM radio station asking for a song. And for the next few minutes we would sing and tap our feet away to the song we had requested, trying really hard not to brush up against the cold metal legs of the chair.

What I wouldn’t give to have that old radio back.

– Aaron Kleinmeyer

Newspaper story about The Brim, a new wedding chapel being built in Kansas City