Don't read this if you just ate (though we said it right after we ate)

Had to drive out to take my dad to a couple of doctor's appointments and it's summer now, so I had to take Ellie with me. Walking back to the car, Ellie did a cartwheel. My dad was impressed, so I told him that she was into gymnastics. Here's the conversation that followed as we got back into the car and drove him home.

Dad: A gymnast, huh? I knew a guy who was a gymnast. He did a hand stand on the high bar and his hand slipped. He hit his head on the metal bar. Killed him.

Me: That's awful.

Dad: Yeah. Awful.

Ellie (to me): Why is Grandpa talking about a guy who died on a bar?

Me: He likes to tell stories about how people died.

Ellie (to Dad): Tell me another story.

Me: You mean about people who died?

Ellie: Yeah.

Me (to Dad): You used to tell me all kinds of stories when I was a kid. Like about the guy who jumped out the window.

Dad: Oh yeah. He jumped out the window and landed on the ground head first. But he jumped between two buildings and they were very close together. Well, his head split open and his brains came out of his head in a line up the sides of each building. It formed a perfect U.

Me: You liked to tell me all kinds of stories like that.

Dad: I didn't "like" to. It's not like I enjoyed it. They were warnings so that you knew what not to do.

Me: Yeah, but you did kind of. Enjoy it.

Dad: No! I was giving you important information!

Me: Then there was the woman who bought her brother a motorcycle.

Dad: Oh right! Those things are suicide machines. She bought her brother a motorcycle and they were driving home from the dealership. Her brother slid out on the motorcycle and she ran him over. Killed him. Dead.

Me: I remember that. That was so awful.

Dad: I know. Awful.

Ellie: Tell me another one!

Dad: There was the woman who got shot right after eating a chicken dinner. She got peritonitis. Took her a few weeks to die. We tried to help her, but what could we do? She had chicken all over her insides.

Me: Well, that's all the stories we have time for.

Ellie: I want to hear another story!

Me: No, no, we have to head home.

Dad: It's important to know these things. You're not going get squeamish, are you?

Me: Dad, you told me these stories when I was five. I couldn't possibly get squeamish about anything.

Dad: See, that's good. I raised you right.