One evening about 25 years ago, my paternal grandparents went to a birthday party for my grandfather.  The party was nice.  Old friends sharing good times and old memories and lies, as old friends do.

My grandparents drove home to their house.  It was and is a nice house in a stately New Orleans neighborhood.  The neghborhood was built long before gated communities.

The driveway was dark, as usual, and the open carport was darker.  As they drove up, someone knocked on the passenger window.  The man knocked with a gun and demanded money and jewlery from my Grandmother.

She did what Uptown New Orleans ladies do in this situation: she locked the door.  My Grandfather got out of the car and had only one weapon:  a wonderful bottle of wine with ribbon on it from his birthday party.

"Get away from my wife you (multiple explitives deleted)," he barked.

The gunman yelled back and my Grandfather threw all he had at the crimminal.  The wine bottle flew and no one knows what impact it had.

The criminal shot at my Grandfather.  And he ran away with nothing.

The bullet did hit my Grandfather.  In the head.

Screaming panic followed from my Grandmother.  911 was called and ambulances came to assist the injured, elderly man. 

My grandparents got to the hospital, and their doctor was waiting for them at the ER.

The doctor quickly assesed my Grandfather.  He was VERY LUCKY.  He was indeed shot, but the bullet had gone over his ear and exited without touching his skull or brain.  He was going to be fine.

What a miracle!

However, my Grandfather did not want anyone else to know yet.  He knew he was going to recover, but he had to have a laugh at his children's expense. 

My father arrived soon after, and found out all the details. He understood how lucky his dad was, but he had to ask the question.

"Pop, Pop, how are you?  What can I do for you?"

"I'm gonna die," he replied darkly.

"Pop, you're gonna live.  What can I get?" Dad answered asked.

"Morphine," he pleaded. 

"Dad, you can't have morphine with a head wound," Dad said knowingly.

"I know," Grandfather repilied.  "But was never going to get that drug anyway, just thought I might ask," and he smiled.  He knew the answer, but he had to let everyone know he was going to be fine.

Dark humor runs in the family, but a family that laughs at the worst moments can stay together for brighter days.