Grandfather Clause

This is a photo of my maternal grandfather, Harris "Speed" Warren, from his senior year of high school in 1929. We kind of look similar, no? ('cept I've got a boxy cranium, with a square jaw, and smaller forehead. Everything about me is the shorter, squattier version of this guy.)

My grandfather was my beloved idol growing up, with a mischievous twinkle in his jade green eyes, and his dubious charms – he had you at 'hello.' This guy knew how to flirt. He was confident without being arrogant, and had this amazing understated wit. His signature style was to ask a seemingly innocent line of questions, to then punctuate his inquisitions with a whopper of a twist that you'd never see coming. He'd only shoot you a half cocked grin, and hold his gaze a second too long to let you in on the joke, that never felt insulting or biting. It was like you wanted this guy to quietly tease you, as if he dunked your pigtails in the ink well in home room, and your heart would a'flutter.

When I grew up, I wanted to be just like him: wearing pressed wool trousers nearly every day of his life, his silvery silken hair always swooped diagonally back like the debonaire leading men of 'talkies.' He filed his nails every day to keep them exactly the same length, and fastidiously tidy. After retiring from managing a hat factory in the small suburban town outside of Boston, he could be found sitting on his front porch ticking away at crossword puzzles by the hours. Despite his small town heritage, he had a worldly demeanor, and an arsenal of random, yet fascinating factoids to always keep the conversation flowing.

He died in 1996, when I was living out in the San Francisco Bay Area. I was devastated, and felt like I lost my only living hero. (This is not to say that he was without his flaws... He was a rabid drinker, and could have a horrible temper when pushed while under the influence. I never found a reason to dispute him, so our relationship was always harmonious and entertaining.) I still miss him terribly, and mourn him all the more when milestones come and go without his paternal presence residing over us.

Even though he and I got along famously, I often wonder what he would make of my transition. As much as he was the archetypal man that I hope to emulate in some ways (sans drinking binges), I secretly fear that his old school ways might have turned on me, and disapproved of my changes. I'm not sure how I would have negotiated that strife, if he was still alive. (His wife, my maternal grandmother, now 98 but completely coherent, no longer recognizes me. At my cousins wedding in April, she remarked that "That person looks a lot like Damon," – my older brother. My brother who is roughly 6-8 inches taller than I am, roughly 150 lbs heavier than I am, has a completely shaved head, and full beard. Um, I hope she meant around the eyes... A few months later, after the family again explained who I am, she barked: "Well, you look good now that you got fat." Gotta love Polish Grandmothers – as warm as the winters in Poland!)

I think of my grandfather often, and wish that I could somehow conjure up his spirit. Now more than ever, I need a man's practiced advice to teach me the ropes, and to help me restore my elapsed flirting techniques. It seems that I was much better flirting with women when I was socially taboo. Since I've become a transman, this nervousness has infiltrated the flirting mechanisms, making them come to a screeching halt. I'm 'supposed' to flirt with women now, but I can't seem to remember how. And I'm so sad that I missed out on my opportunity to actively learn from the master while growing up, as trying to teach myself in my mid-thirties is like some bad dating show on VH1. That guy would have rocked a reality show at any age. I wish I could have been his apprentice, and not just his young granddaughter. What I wouldn't give...