hen I was just a young boy, my Grandma started telling me the stories collected in this book. My grandma's name was Janet Elizabeth Dorothy Keyes. She was born at St Anne hospital in Blue Island, Illinois on July 26, 1956. She completed high school, but she didn't go to college. At age 18, she married Benjamin Timothy Gary Polanek. Ben and Jan as they were called had eight children together, seven boys and one girl. That one girl is my mother, Elizabeth Marie Rose Polanek. My mother had only me and she took on the responsibility of a single mother when my father left. My name is John Adam Smith.
Chapter 1

I started visiting my grandma once a year when I was eight years old. Oh, do I remember that day. It was a brilliant Autumn day, the leaves were falling, and a hint of frost biting chill was in the air. It was September of 2030, on a Saturday. I had been watching cartoons, the always 'sunshine yellow' tweety bird was on, I had a pink comforter wrapped around me, and I was in a semiconscious state. My mother started calling me, in the same voice she uses when she wants me to take a bath, so naturally I scrambled behind the television, tripped on my comforter, and ran. Boy, did I hate baths. My mother had to charge through the house to catch up with me, and she dropped her purse, keys, and coat on her way to catch me. She sprinted towards me in the last five feet, and she snatched me up and ran around the house panting trying to find her things. She finally dragged me out of the house. What a site we were, a tantrum throwing eight year old little boy and a mother with her hair all over her still 'sunburned from Summer' face dragging me out to the sidewalk.

We finally made it to the nursing home, and once we got to my grandmas room, I had calmed down a lot and my mother had also calmed down a lot, and I started to look around. I saw a stool with a velvet red cushion on it, a sky blue arm chair, a powder table with a wooden chair, a puke brown bathroom with a sink and an old fashion toilet to match, the bed comforter had grapes on it, their was a night stand with three rosaries on it, a closet in the wall which to this day I have never seen the inside, and a small dresser. My grandma asked my mother to leave, and I got really scared. Then my grandma started to tell me something. Her voice was cold and raspy and it sent a shiver down my spine.

So, my grandma started out saying in an audible wisper, "Now Johnny, you have to listen very...carefully. Every time you come to visit me, I will tell you a story...You like stories don't you?"

I said timidly, "of course."

And so began my visits to grandma. On the first visit, the story was short. Grandma started "You know the boy who cried wolf. Well have you ever heard about the girl who cried oww?" she laughed a strained laugh before starting again, "I was in third grade at St. Maria and I was mad at my teacher for giving me an F on my handwriting paper...now that I think about it, my handwriting was chicken scratch. So, I was at recess and I started screaming and yelling and I sounded like a dying seal. Teacher, I can't recall her name, she came running and when I told her nothing was wrong, she gave me a 'I didn't like you screaming' look. The next day, I was still mad at her, I was at recess and I started screaming and yelling again, teacher, she was a nun, she came running and when I told her nothing was wrong, she gave me an evil evil look of disapproval. The next day I really did hurt myself, but no one came to help me when I screamed again. John, I want you to always remember to be honest and truthful."

That was the end of my first visit.

Grandma didn't tell me another story until I was in 4th grade. I don't really remember it, but the moral was don't touch anything that you don't know what it is. A very long moral I know, and I still remember it 40 years later.

The story went like this: Grandma started in a wisper "I was in 4th grade, just like you are now...I was walking home from school. Now, you don't be complaining about having to walk to the bus stop, I had to walk or run depending on how late I was to St. Maria in all types of weather for three miles. I was walking home from school, almost at my house, when these older boys walked over to me. They were laughing like hienas and talking loudly. They came up to me and told me to climb the tree directly to the left of the cracked bleached sidewalk. I don't know why they told me to climb the tree, but they had muscles bulging out of there ripped black and gray t-shirts, and I didn't want to see those muscles slam into my face. So, I climbed the tree. I got up far and a cafe brown circle with walnut like lumps and it was making a soft buzzing sound. They boys kept on screeching at me to keep going, so I shoved at the sphere. Suddenly, I was falling with a million needles poking me, it was a wasps nest," she finished with a wince.

In fifth grade, I got to walk all the way to the nursing home alone. I remember that walk so vividly, the burning red bush when I walked out of my steal front door, the red wagon on our sidewalk, the same size silver house all made of steal, the electronic orange and purple currents running through the air, the brilliant tulip red sun in the noon position, and most of all the peeling trees with shriveled brown leaves. When I got to my grandma's, I was ecstatic that I got there alone. After she heard my long story about my walk to her house, she told me she had a new story and she began.

"Now John, I remember the first time I went somewhere alone, I was about your age, I went to downtown Chicago on a train. I got off and walked to the park. I started eating a picnic lunch when this man came up to me, I started to back away...really quickly. I remember, I screamed and ran non-stop to the train station. I didn't have a penny on me, and I had to go to the police station and the one man got so mad at me for disturbing him while he had more important things to do. He was as red as a beet. I called my mother and asked her to pick me up. John always be careful when you are alone." Since then, I have been extra careful to caring at least a dollar in my coat pocket.

I realized in 6th grade why grandma had chosen me to tell the stories to, I realized that I was her only daughters only son. When I told her this, she laughed. When she asked if I wanted to know more about my father, I said yes.

"Well," she began "His name was Johnathon, he and your mother met in their second year of high school. I can't tell you much more, except he did drugs, and I didn't see him much. Your mother had you in her senior year of high school, and after that Johnathon was gone forever. John, get married before you have children."

Well, when I got home, I asked my mother about him, and she showed me a scrapbook from high school filled with pictures and notes. I looked up Johnathon Smith, I had already known his last name beacause it is my last name, and he had died nine years ago because of drugs. I was sad that he had died because of something stupid, but I wasnt to sad because I had never seen him. I will remember him always.

In seventh grade, I brought a notebook on the visit. I brought this because I was going to interview my grandma, now about 80, on her childhood life in her house. When I asked her if she could tell me about her childhood, she said, "of course."

She started off saying, "Father was very strict. Breakfast was at 6:00 am, school from 7:00 am - 2:00 pm, adoration in the chapel from 2:00 pm - 3:00 pm, homework from 5:00 pm - 5:30 pm, dinner from 5:30 pm - 6:30 pm always, and bed from 8:00 pm - 5:30 am. If you weren't within the second, discipline was that we got our hands handcuffed together when we misbehaved...Father was the chief police official after all. I can't remember any other families like that. That was MY life in the house in my childhood."

I realized after this visit that I should record all the stories, so from then on I did.

I decided to go see my grandma right after I graduated from grammar school, and boy was I glad I went. She told me, "Congratulations on graduation John, now that you are going into high school, I would like to tell you something. Once I was about a month into high school, and I had gotten used to the regular routine of high school life. I started to explore teams, clubs, and I signed up for the swim team, the poster club, the yearbook committee, and ... mmm...oh yes, the dance squad. I got busy after that. In the month of October, my GPA dropped from a 4.0 to a 2.9. I had to resign from some of the activities. I stayed on the poster club, I love to paint. Now John, be careful of doing too many things beside school work!" And I listed to her advice.

I didn't visit grandma again until I was a sophomore in high school. I visited her when I had the fever, I didn't want to give it to her, but she had asked me to come, so I did.

She started off in what seemed to be the middle of a story "...Father started coughing too, mom got really scared. All the children had the whooping cough, and now her husband? She fainted and I remember her crashing to the floor and I was scared she had broken something because I heard a smash when she landed. It turned out she hit the black cabinet with pink flowers on it, and the crystal lamp had fallen. The doctor luckily had been at our house anyway to take care of the children, so he quickly woke her, and dad said in a voice that said oh no, she broke the lamp because of me, 'I just got too lonely, so I decided to come upstairs to join the kids, and then I just wanted a little fun. Forgive me.' Of course mom forgave him, but we were coughing for another three weeks." I haven't done any mean jokes since I heard this story.

I heard another story when I was a junior in high school. It was Halloween, and I brought grandma some Fannie May rich turtle dove chocolates. When I told her Happy Halloween, she said "Oh John, you too. Now listen to this silly story."

"I remember, I was in 4th grade, I had searched and searched for a costume when my mother took me to the 'Everything for a Dime' store. There it was...the prettiest dress I've ever seen...It had poofy pale blue bunches on the shoulders, a white shawl with little beads, clear slippers with half-inch heels, and a pinkish blue dress that had a hoop on the bottom. I fell in love with the dress immediately, but when my mother saw the picture with Cinderella on the front, she asked me if I was sure I wanted that dress. On Halloween, I was looking for the dress, and I started screaming, crying, looking, crying, looking, and wimpering. I couldn't find the beautiful dress. Finally, after all of the searching, I found the dress in my wooden laundry basket. I was so relieved. Now that I think of it, that was really silly of me, the dress even had a picture of cinderella on the front. Oh well." I left her room with a smile on my face.

The final story happened when I was 20. It was right after I got off of work, I had a sudden urge to go see my grandma. When she saw me, she immediately began her last story: "Do you see that painting John? Of course you do...The person who came up with the idea of painting a beautiful picture of shapes and swirls...abstract...came up with the idea on October 13, 1998. I remember seeing that person's face light up while she was looking in the mirror. This painting ... worth ... dollars ... I am the only... who know... who painted ... that person was... was...was... WAS." I stopped writing for a moment and looked at my grandma, she had gone to see her husband.

I wonder today who painted that picture because grandma didn't get to tell me all of her stories before she died. But, I think I learned many lessons from all of those stories. Even though I couldn't pry all of the stories out of her, it was my fault, I didn't visit her more ofter. At 90 I guess she was fit to go, and now she has helped me to publish her stories and let the world know: You should appreciate everyone, everything, and you should remember the deceased.