Dear Grandpa: You're Awesome. And Old. And Kind Of An Asshole.

Dear Grandpa,

Hi, remember me? Miss Yvonne? Your youngest grandchild, the one who came to visit you and Grandma in town after you moved off the farm because I was born so much later than all the other grandkids and never got to experience the joy of farm life like they did? Also, I wore leotards and legwarmers a lot and drank all your off-brand root beer but would never admit to it?

So Dad (your oldest son, remember him?) reminded me that your 100th birthday is on Saturday. I just wanted to write you a little letter to tell you how very excited and happy I am for you! I know you've been looking forward to this big day for awhile. I wish I could fly home to Minnesota to be there for your big birthday party. Even though the last time I visited you at the nursing home, you confused me with my Aunt Margie and you kept calling my dad by my uncle's name. But whatevs. It's all good, Grandpa. I mean, so you forget who people are sometimes! Big deal! You're 99 years old!

And so what if you yell at all the nurses in the home when they make you put on clean clothes every day? Seriously, a few grease stains and a little body odor doesn't hurt anyone. You're just doing your part for the environment by saving energy on laundry. Plus, those nurses deserve it for taking your Tums away from you. How do they know that antacids don't cure headaches and gout? They're just a gaggle of know-nothing women. It's not like they're doctors or anything, right Grandpa? Up top!

And I'm sorry, but that guy in the room across from you totally had it coming when you tried to trip him last month. Everyone knows his room was supposed to be YOUR room! Even though no one ever told you that. It was implied. Duh.

You know what's great about you, Grandpa? How you always manage to steer the conversation back to yourself no matter what the subject. Like that one time...oh man, it was so hilarious...when I was trying to tell you about how my son is doing in school and you grabbed my arm and yelled "I keep telling them to take me off those damn hormone pills and they won't listen to me! I don't need 'em, they give me hot flashes!". Yeah, that was great. Good times, Grandpa. Good times.

I'm always learning new things from you. Because I had no idea that doctors prescribe estrogen for prostate cancer when you are too old for surgery. I love hearing about your bodily functions too. Who knew one person could urinate so much in a day??? It's fascinating, really.

Hey, remember the time you told my mom that my sisters and I weren't really true family members because we are female and therefore can't carry on the family name? Gosh Grandpa, thank you so much for shedding light on this issue! I never really thought about it that way, but it makes total and complete sense. Thank goodness I got married and changed my name so that I don't embarrass you in front of God when you go to heaven. This way, when I get up there you can be all "Oh her? Psssh, she's just my granddaughter. But go ahead and let her in anyway. She got married, so it's all good. Even though she kept her maiden name as part of her middle name. If I can forgive her, I'm sure you can too God." Because I'm sure you'll be God's left-hand man (not right-hand because the Big J is already on that side) when you go to heaven on account of you being so devout and republican.

Next time I come for a visit could you maybe tell me more about how the Democrats are ruining this country? I promise to bring you another large print book about George W Bush in exchange. Or maybe this time you'd prefer one about Rush Limbaugh? I know you told me that you voted Democrat once when you were young and didn't know any better, but I promise not to tell Jesus about that at your funeral. It'll be our little secret.

Happy 100th Birthday, Grandpa! Be sure to hug Aunt Margie/me at your party.

Love always,Miss Yvonne