The day Papa got his mole

I don’t remember the exact day, or the time. I only know it was one afternoon, about twenty years ago, in the front porch of the house. I was sitting on my grandpa’s lap talking about those transcendent things that only younger and older people know about. In between one of those regular pauses that happen in pleasant conversations I looked up his face full of freckles; those cute little freckles that only develop on older, and younger people too. In the middle of his forehead I noticed a skin colored mole. It wasn’t huge, and it wasn’t gross, but it was evident enough to spark my curiosity.

            “Papa,” because that how I called my grandpa, “what’s that?”

He touched his forehead with his hand and said, “It’s a skin mole.”

            “But what happened? How did it get there?”

He took a deep slow breath and his eyes focused on a distant point while trying to remember. After a few seconds he looked back at me.

            “I was in a rowboat, fishing in Boca Chica,” he explained. “ It was about noon. It was supper hot and I hadn’t caught anything yet. I had been fishing since 7 am, and I was starting to feel desperate, so I got a little piece of ham out of my lunchbox and put it at the end of the fishing line in case fish liked ham too. I threw it back into the water, and waited. Suddenly a fish started to pull, and pull the line. I tried to cast it but it was too strong. The fish was so strong that it was pulling me, and the rowboat at the same time. I tried to hold onto the rod but it was so hard that I fell in the sea. When I fell in the water I opened my eyes, and I found out it was a shark! I knew sharks liked ham, but I didn’t remember there was one on the beach that day.”

“And what happened?” My eyes were as wide as plates and my high pitched little voice couldn’t contain the horror and surprise.

“What else was I going to do? I fought it! The shark came swimming super fast and I punched it in the gills, which is where it hurts the most. Then I grabbed one of the rows and when the shark opened its mouth I stuck the row in between its teeth, then I grabbed it by the tail and hurled it as far as I could. Then I swam super fast towards the rowboat, but the shark had eaten his veggies that day and was swimming faster than me, and was closing on me. When I reached the boat I started climbing on it at once, and when I looked back the shark was there already, and it opened its mouth, and it bit my forehead.  I kicked it real hard, so the only thing it could bite was this little bit of flesh here that became a skin mole.” He touched his forehead again and felt the mole.

I was sitting there with my mouth open. My heart was trying to leap out of my chest like an Olympic jumper. My grandpa, as old and wrinkled as he was had fought a giant shark and had won. And the only thing that shark got to do to him was bite a teeny tiny bit of skin that now became a Medal of Honor.

HOW-COOL-WAS-THAT!!!!!

I jumped off his lap and ran back into the house shouting.

            “Mamaaaa,” because I had to tell my grandma. I knew she would die when I tell her. “I bet you don’t know how Papa got that mole. A “sharg” bit him!

            “A what?”

            “A sharg! There in the forehead. When he was fishing in Boca Chica, it came and bit him there.”

We both turned to look at him. There, sitting on his rocking chair, old and wrinkled, saying hi to the people passing by, was the strongest, fastest, bravest grandpa in the whole wide world.

*Note: I did not come up with this story. This is a real anecdote told to me by my real grandpa in their real front porch. And I know it is true for sure because it is scientifically proven that sharks like ham.

Just saying.