The way Grandpa Bill glanced at me when I sat down made me wish I'd taken my mom's advice and worn a tie. It was too late for that now. To my surprise, he just stared at me for a minute or two, then gave his attention to the crowded table.

“I'm going to die,” he said.

We all heard heard, him, but from the looks being exchanged around the table, no one wanted to answer. So he said it again, louder.

“I'm dying!”

This time he was rewarded. Several family members glared at him. Ignoring their angry glances, he coughed in harsh hacks as if proving his imminent death, then spewed his half-eaten mouthful of turkey across the table.

My cousin Greg, who had the misfortune of getting the shortest straw, sat next to Grandpa Bill. A queasy look passed over Greg's face as he gazed at his plate. Greg pushed his plate away, after a loud sigh and a dirty look in my direction.

Grandpa Bill fumbled around with his napkin, then managed to reach his glass of water, tap, not purified. “I don't trust all those fancy-smanchi bottled waters. Plain old tap water is good enough for me.” He gulped down a few swallows and coughed again, only a small rivulet dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

My mother had risen to her feet during this little interlude, and was gently patting him on the back.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“It's all right, Peggy, honey, I wouldn't want to be a burden.”

Grandpa Bill sighed and threw his considerable bulk back in his chair. It rocked and creaked, but held.

“When a man gets as old as I am, he has to accept that he's not going to be able to count on others to bail him out all the time. You all have have your lives to live.”

“Thank goodness for that,” muttered Greg and scored a sharp elbow in the ribs from Aunt Stacy.

“After all, I'm not long for this world, I'm afraid. So there's really no use trying to be part of it. When a person is as old and ill as I am, he learns to acknowledge his mortality. We aren't as young and spry as we used to be, right Esther? I've noticed that you've been looking a sight poorly. Feeling your age a bit?” he asked my great aunt.

Aunt Esther, at 47, was sensitive about her advancing age. With a look of total and complete horror, and a muffled sob, she excused herself and ran in the direction of the bathroom.

“Yessir,” commented Grandpa Bill, after a minute of reflection. “She surely has changed since we were young. She was a looker then, as gorgeous as Greta Garbo.” His eyes were filled with wonder as he continued. “Yep, she sure is different now.”

In the silence, I watched Grandpa finish off his turkey and gulp down the last of his water. Aunt Ruth continued, business-like, to scoop food into her mouth. My mother had pushed away from the table and gone to soothe Aunt Esther. I could hear her calling through the bathroom door. I continued to eat the rest of my Thanksgiving dinner, privately wondering what the rest of the holidays would hold.

~~~~~

Grandpa Bill's call came two weeks later in a nightmarish routine that had started in my childhood. Grandpa Bill, you see, had taken it upon himself to “check up” on us. He'd call the house sometime between Thanksgiving and Easter, pretending to be Santa.

“Have you been a good boy this year?” he'd ask.

Sure, it was cute when my cousins and I were kids, but after about the age of eleven, it started to get annoying.

I'll never forget the first year I realized that: one, Santa didn't really exist and two, the Santa who called my house sounded suspiciously like Grandpa Bill.

“Well, Jackie boy, have you been a good boy this year? Ho, ho -hack, cough- ho!”

“Sure, Grandpa Bill,” I replied.

“This isn't Grandpa Bill, this is Santa. I'm calling from the North Pole to see if I should pack a present for you in my sleigh.”

“Grandpa Bill, I know it's you. So just cut that out,” I'd demanded, glaring at the phone.

“Ho, ho, ho. Now listen here, Jackie boy. You're not sounding very good to me. You don't want Santa to give you coal for Christmas, do you?”

“I don't believe in Santa!” I said as I slammed down the phone.

Grandpa Bill had a vindictive look in his eyes when he handed me my Christmas present that year. The coal inside didn't surprise me, somehow. When my mother found out, however, she made sure I knew how to behave when Grandpa Bill called the next year.

This year, Grandpa's timing was impeccable. This girl name Connie that I really liked, and had as a study partner, was over at my house, and we were all in the middle of dinner.

When the phone rang, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Jack,” Mom said. “It's for you. It's Santa Claus.”

“Please be nice,” she whispered, as she handed me the phone.

“Why can't we just get an unlisted number?” I muttered.

With a sense of the inevitable, I held the phone up to my ear, looked into Connie's curious eyes and said, “Hello?”

“Well, Jack, been a good little boy this year? Ho, ho, ho!”

“Yes, Santa, I think so.”

“I don't know, Jackie boy. I've been hearing things. I had to call and make sure if I should pack a present for you on my sleigh. There's no fooling around this year. Ya hear? Ho, ho, ho!”

“Yeah, sure, I understand,” I said and rolled my eyes.

Connie smiled while my Mom explained the situation to her in hushed tones.

Oh brother, I thought. All I need is for someone to spread this stuff around school. I'll never hear the end of it.

“Listen, Santa,” I said, playing along. “I have to go finish my vegetables if I'm going to get that present. So...”

“Heh, heh, heh. Okay, Jackie boy, talk to you later.”

“Yeah, you too.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Grandpa Bill cleared his throat noisily. I knew what he wanted, but I wasn't about to say it. Then Mom raised an eyebrow.

“I love you, Santa,”I mumbled.

“Bye, Jack,” he said and hung up.

I sat back down. Reaching over, Connie squeezed my hand.

“That was sweet of you,” she said. I could see the laughter lurking behind her blue eyes.

“Yeah, whatever. I'm so sick of this, Mom. Can't you talk to him or something?” Connie pulled away as I continued my diatribe. “I mean, for goodness sakes, I'm seventeen. It's embarrassing. I don't believe in Santa Claus anymore.”

Mom shrugged.

“I've tried, Jack, but you know your grandfather. Besides, he's not really hurting anything. Someday you'll look back on this and remember what a funny old character Grandpa Bill was,” she said with a smile. Mom always did have a better sense of humor then me.

“I don't see what the big deal is, Jack,” Connie said. “I think it's nice of your grandpa to call you like that.”

I could tell she didn't like how I talked about him, but she didn't have to go through the same routine every year. And it wasn't just the Santa thing, either. It was everything. His whole personality just drove the family crazy.

“You don't understand,” I told her, my tone sharper then I meant it to be. Connie's face flushed. “He's rude to everyone in the family. He's dirty, smelly, and he refuses to let anyone help him. He doesn't need to call me, pretending to be Santa Claus. He needs to be put in a home.”

Connie frowned and shook her head. She bit her lip and said, “My grandpa and grandma died when I was little. I barely remember them. Do you know how much I'd give to have a grandparent call me pretending to be Santa?” She looked so sad. Shame washed over me. “I don't think you're being very fair to him,” she continued, “and maybe he should be the one wishing he could put you in a home.” She stood up with quiet dignity. “Excuse me, please. I think I need to go home now.”

And she left! Just like that. My face grew red as I sat there in my chair.

“See! He ruins everything,” I said.

“Really? I thought you did a pretty good job all by yourself,” Mom said and took her plate to the kitchen.

“What? I didn't -I mean she-,” I couldn't finish. Mom was right.

“What should I do now?” I asked.

“Rethink some of your attitudes, maybe?” she replied.

All right, I thought. Maybe Grandpa Bill wasn't that bad. Wait a minute. He was that bad! I mean, I remember that time where he... or the day when he...

I found myself unable to think of one major, important outstanding reason to disown Grandpa Bill. In fact, as I thought more about it while I moped there in the dining room, all I could remember were the times when Grandpa Bill had been really decent.

Like when my dad left my mom and me when I was eight and Grandpa Bill took me out for ice cream and told me not to worry about anything and that it wasn't my fault. When my cousin Greg broke his arm and couldn't play in little league Grandpa Bill came over and doodled funny faces on the cast, making us both laugh.

The truth is, as eccentric as he was, Grandpa Bill was a part of the family, an important part.  I knew that I'd been way out of line, even if he hadn't been there to hear my words.

I hesitated for a second, then got up from the table and reached for the phone. It was time to make a Christmas call of my own.

When the phone picked up, I put on my best Santa voice, “Ho, ho, ho! Is Grandpa Bill there? This is Santa!”