My Grandpa and hail.

 

Hail stones have an intriguing effect on me
I hear them
I dashed to the windows,
I dashed to the deck.
"It's hail! It's hail."


My Grandpa left China about 100 years ago to Tropical Borneo when he was 20. When he was 80s, and I was 18, there was a freak hail storm In Sibu

Our house was on stilts. "Snow! Snow!" we yelled and we all rushed downstairs.

Grandpa in his 80s, and all of six of us aged 3 to 18. ( The Chinese believe that you should not go out in the rain or you will catch a cold.) We laughed and picked the hail, the marble size hail.

We twirled and danced and laughed in the slushy rain. Grandpa cried, he had left his temperate China, never returned and thought he would never, ever see this natural phenomenon again.

Sixty years had past, and God sent a few minutes of ecstasy. We told Grandpa, "You can die now."

My big sis Rose stared out of the window, and thought we had gone mad. When Grandpa died 3 years later, I was in Canada experiencing the coldest winter Canada ever had, minus 28 degrees. I looked out of my window, at the falling snow and whispered, Grandpa, you are now be back at your homeland China. Go and play with the snow, real snow, not hail.

Whenever we have hail, I want to go outside and relive that incredible time again. My grandpa, my siblings and me.

My grandpa wore this official formal dress that he went to meet his maker. Those of you know know me, Charles Chan is number one grand son, and My Dad John Chan, his substitute number one son. The real number one son, was banished to Manchu by the Communists.