Glen Tate: 299 Days: The Preparation

Not Grant. He stayed there with the man and held his hand. That’s all he knew how to do. Grant told the man that everything would be fine. When the seizures stopped, the man smiled at Grant. It was a peaceful smile. The man knew he was dying and that some nice boy came to comfort him. Grant smiled back, knowing that the man was going somewhere better. The man died with Grant holding his hand. It was the least Grant could do. He sat there holding the man’s hand until a police officer and ambulance arrived to take him away.

Later, the kids playing with Grant wouldn’t have anything to do with him. “Grant touched a dead dude,” they said. They said Grant was weird for touching a dead person. They were probably ashamed that they hadn’t done anything, but they took it out on Grant by shunning him. Grant couldn’t understand why people hated him for doing the right thing.

Decades later, Grant would understand what was going on when he learned the term “sheepdog.” Sheep are blissfully ignorant and peacefully graze on grass while wolves are lurking in the shadows, planning their attack. Farms with sheep always had sheepdogs to guard the sheep. The sheepdogs can’t stand to see a sheep in danger so they rush in to help, putting themselves in danger. To a sheepdog, the thought of seeing a sheep hurt is worse than having the wolf attack the sheepdog. The sheepdog can’t help rushing into danger; it is innate.

The other reason Grant would later understand that the sheepdog analogy was so fitting was that sheep are scared of the sheepdogs trying to protect them. After all, a sheepdog looks a little bit like a wolf to a sheep. They’re both in the dog family. The sheep can’t understand that a sheepdog would rush in to protect them because they wouldn’t protect each other. The sheep view the wolf-looking sheepdogs with suspicion.

The sheepdogs, like Grant, accept that the sheep didn’t appreciate them, but they still can’t stand to see the suffering so they jump in to help. They can’t help it. It’s just how they are.

Grant and his sister would escape the ogre Larry and the dreary Forks house by reading. The Matson kids were frequent visitors to the library in town. It was a pretty decent one. The local logging company that ran the town donated all the books. The great thing about the library was that their dad wasn’t there. Grant remembered his dad’s attitude about the library. One time Carol said, “Dad, we’re going to the library.” Their dad answered, “Good. You can bother the people there and leave me alone.” That about summed it up.

There was a whole world in that library, a world outside of Forks and the ogre. It was full of stories from all over the world and from different time periods. Grant especially liked to read about the American Revolution. A small band of underdogs take on the most powerful people on earth and win! What a story. Grant could relate. These stories made a big impact on Grant as he grew up.

One of Grant’s strongest memories of his childhood was his mom sitting at the dining table with bills and a checkbook and crying uncontrollably. They “got by,” but it was really a struggle. He would watch her cry and think about being rich. Not millionaire rich. Just rich enough so he wouldn’t have to cry when he paid the bills. That seemed impossible there in Forks, but Grant could sense that what he was thinking about would happen later.

Grant got those feelings sometimes when it came to big things like what he would be when he grew up. It was hard to explain, but what he thought was going to happen in the future was just going to happen. He knew it was unlikely that a person could actually tell what was going to happen, but it seemed like there was a path to what he saw happening in the future. He couldn’t actually see the exact contours of the path. But it was there; someone couldn’t see it unless they were looking for it. Like a deer path in the woods. It’s there if a person is looking for it. Grant knew the path was taking him somewhere good—out of Forks. It was just going to happen. Maybe he would do all the work to make it happen, or maybe it just would happen. Or maybe it was a combination of both. He got used to this feeling.

One day when Grant was about nine, his dad seemed mad. This sometimes meant Grant was going to get hit. He would walk on eggshells and avoid his dad, which worked part of the time.

“Come here!” Grant’s dad yelled. Oh crap. Grant walked into the kitchen not knowing what was coming. His dad looked at him and, like he was talking to an adult, said to Grant, “You ruined my life.” Grant’s dad then explained how he could have been a photographer if he didn’t have to stay home, “and take care of you little brats.” Grant waited to see if he was going to get hit. After a few seconds of silence, Grant just left.

It was weird. Grant, at the ripe old age of nine, thought what his dad had just said was so absurd. A photographer? His dad didn’t even own a camera. Grant knew he should be devastated that he was just told that he had ruined his dad’s life, but for some reason Grant couldn’t take it seriously. He just thought about how he was going to get out of there when he graduated from high school. He wondered how many nine year-olds were calmly making escape plans. He even felt sorry for his dad.

But, Grant still hated his dad. Being told you ruined your dad’s life was actually a pretty good day compared to others. Getting beat up is no fun. Grant felt helpless, being so small and unable to fight back.

The worst part was the time he had to go to school with a black eye. Everyone knew what had happened. It was the most humiliating experience in his life. Words couldn’t describe how embarrassing it was. People, especially kids, treated someone differently when they knew that person was getting their ass beat at home. The bullies at school would pick on that person more. They sensed the weakness and wanted to get in on the fun. The decent kids would pity that kid, though. When he had the black eye, Grant got physically ill before going to school. He threw up and tried to stay home claiming he was sick.

Grant’s mom wouldn’t let him stay home. She didn’t want to make Larry mad. In her mind, there was some sort of disagreement between Larry and her son that led to the black eye. It was their business, and she wasn’t going to get involved.

Grant could never understand why his mom didn’t stick up for him. Actually, he could. She had the self-esteem of a turnip. But that didn’t excuse it. Mothers were supposed to protect their children, weren’t they?

It was particularly hard for a sheepdog like Grant to understand how a mother could let this happen to her kids. People were supposed to protect the weak. All she had to do was tell Larry to stop or call the police, but she wouldn’t.

Grant developed a strong dislike for people who could stop bullies but didn’t almost as much as he hated the bullies themselves. He and his sister would talk about why their mom wasn’t doing anything. Was it because they were bad kids? One time they both went to their mom and told her to divorce their dad. She cried for days.

Larry Matson was a socialist. Grant remembered his dad always talking about “corporations” and the “proletariat.” Every bad thing that had happened to their dad was caused by corporations, like the logging company. By about middle school, Grant knew more about Lenin and Marx from listening to his dad than most adults would ever know.

There was a little church across the street from Grant’s house. He noticed that every Sunday nice people who were dressed up went there. They seemed happy. Something good must be happening in that building, Grant thought.

“Hey, Dad, can I go to the church?” Grant asked, one day. Of course it would be OK to go to church.