• By BOB ANDERSON
• Advocate Florida parishes bureau
• Published: Sep 6, 2007 - Page: 1E

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Someday I want to be a grandparent.

Since none of my children is married, I guess I shouldn’t be in a rush.

Still, from the experience with the only grandparent I remember, it’s a role I relish.

My father’s parents died before I was born. I have only a snapshot memory of my maternal grandmother.

My grandfather Eugene doesn’t appear in my memory until a couple of years later. He was the adult who kept my darkest secret.

Grandpa came to live with us when I was 4 or 5. He was in his 80s and had been plowing behind a mule when he almost had a stroke — or so my mother said.

By the hardest, she convinced him to come home with us “for a couple of weeks” that turned out to be years.

Though he didn’t get out of the rocking chair much, he was my playmate.

Maybe that wouldn’t have been as important had I not been an only child living in a rural area, but he played a key role in many of my imaginary games.

Sometimes his rocking chair was the forecastle of a pirate ship. Sometimes it was the cockpit of a bomber. Sometimes it was the cowboy town I invaded with a tomahawk in hand.

We weren’t playing a game, however, on the day we first shared my secret.

I swear the arrow was an accident!

It was a glorious, sunny morning. Having just finished breakfast, I grabbed my bow and arrow and ran out the back door. I shot an arrow into the air …