My name is the same as my dad's. And the same as my grandpa's. Admittedly, an old man's name.
When my grandpa met my first boss, he called him "sir". Because of his occupation. My grandpa was a great man. And thirty years older than "sir".
Because of a few random and great moments half a decade ago, I now get to sit in this bar. In a town and a building my dad and my grandpa never even dreamed of entering.
My grandpa worked his ass off in the Depression on a loading dock. My Dad found he had a great athletic skill and capitalized on it. What I do is talk. I can tell stories that people want to listen to.
Tonight, when my pally the barman punched my Oban into the POS system, my name came onto the screen. And my Dad's. And my grandpa's. And I know they were so very pleased. They are long gone. But we were together again. United in the fact that the effort applied to our gifts got us someplace. And what a place it is.
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7 comments:
Wonderful. Tonight, I will pour an Oban into my heaviest tumbler, mostly because of this post, but also to honor sons, fathers, and grandfathers.
Cheers to the Lane boys.
p.s. I think I know the club.
I have been going genealogy work and I often wonder, as I pore over photos of my great-grandparents, what they would think of me. On my dad's side the names alternated through the generations between Thomas and Austin. They were poor, illiterate at points in the history and saw too many wars - it boggles the mind to think that we, as strangers, talk about them and share photos over the internet.
Love the sentiment and the moment, but, must admit I don't know what Oban means. The way Sir Lane then Ben use the word it implies different things. Please educate this ignorant soul.
Ben, I hope we are at that bar at the same time some year.
Princess, I agree it is an odd thing to think about.
William, Oban is a single malt Scotch. The great bartender at the club put me onto it. Whenever you order it he says "now youre talking...".
Thanks all!
ML
Ah, je voi, I shall have to give it a try. Thank you.
Amazing how far we come from our fathers and grandfathers. I always think what it must have been like to work with a hangover when you're digging a ditch versus miss striking a key while typing an email. Great story. Great point of sale. JT
Tintin, thanks. I've thought of those things too. How lucky we are.
ML
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