I was 14 the autumn after my maternal grandfather died. We were all just beginning to deal with the loss of this great man who had strode like a giant through our lives. Grandma was clearing a lifetime’s worth of stuff out so she could turn the farm over to my uncle, and by November that was pretty much done. But one day, my cousin and I were out at the farm shooting some pheasants, and when we got back to the house, Grandpa told us to come in for some lunch.
While we were eating, Grandma told us there was one last box of Grandpa’s stuff out in the barn that had been overlooked. “Go take a look,” she told us, “and if there’s anything you want, go ahead and take it; I’m going to have Norman haul what’s left to the dump.”
So we went and looked. We discovered there was a side to Grandpa that we had never known, as the box was full of some pretty lurid girlie magazines. In my…
