I Won 333 Million Dollars in the Lottery – After Years of Being Treated Like a Burden, I Tested My…
A Grandson’s Compassion
I sat there with my phone in my hand, watching the screen fade to black. Two calls, two rejections.
I had one call left. My grandson Tyler was 20 years old.
He was Marcus’s kid. He went to Wayne State University studying engineering.
He lived in a small apartment near campus and worked part-time at a bookstore, Chapter House on Woodward Avenue, making maybe $12 an hour.
We’d always been close. Even after Marcus started pulling away, Tyler would call me.
“Come over for Sunday dinners.”
He would actually listen when I talked.
Last time I saw him, three weeks ago, he’d mentioned his car was dying. The transmission was going.
The mechanic said it would cost more to fix than the car’s worth.
“What are you going to do?”
“Keep driving it until it dies, I guess. Can’t afford anything else.”
Now I was about to call and ask him for money he definitely didn’t have. My hand shook as I dialed.
He answered immediately.
“Grandpa, hey! What’s up?”
Just hearing his voice, genuinely happy to hear from me, made my throat tight.
“Tyler, I need to ask you something. I’m in a difficult spot.”
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I can’t afford my heart medication this month. I need about $200 until my Social Security check comes. I know you’re tight on money, so if you can’t—”
“How much do you need exactly?”
There was no hesitation. No lecture.
“Just how much?”
“Two hundred. But Tyler, I know you’re working your way through school. If you don’t have it—”
“I’ve got about 500 in my checking account. I can Venmo it right now. Do you need more? I can pick up extra shifts.”
That $500 was probably everything he had until his next paycheck.
“Tyler, I can’t take your money.”
“Grandpa, stop. You’ve never asked me for anything. Not once. Ever.”
“When my car broke down last year, you gave me rides for three months. When I couldn’t afford textbooks, you bought them. You don’t ask for help, so if you’re asking now, it’s serious. I’m sending the money right now.”
I heard tapping. He was typing on his phone.
“I sent 500. Is that enough? Do you need me to drive down? I can leave right now. Are you okay? Should I call someone?”
My eyes were burning.
“Tyler, I’m okay. The money helps. I can’t tell you what this means.”
“You don’t have to. You’re my grandpa. I love you.”
We hung up. I sat in my living room and cried for the first time since Anne’s funeral.
The Reward
That weekend, I bought Tyler a car. I called Honda of Detroit and asked for the sales manager.
“I want to buy a car, cash. I need it delivered to an address in Ann Arbor by Saturday morning.”
“What kind of car?”
“Honda Civic, new 2023, silver, loaded with every safety feature you have.”
“Whatever that costs—”
“That’s about $28,000, sir.”
“Done. Here’s the delivery address.”
Saturday morning at 9:00 a.m., I called Tyler.
“Hey, can you come by the house this afternoon? I need help with something.”
“Sure, I’ll leave in an hour.”
He pulled up in his dying Nissan at 11:30 a.m. I was standing in the driveway.
Behind me, covered with a tarp, was the Civic.
“What’s under the tarp?”
He asked, walking up.
“Come see.”
I pulled the tarp off. Tyler stopped and stared.
“Grandpa, whose car is that?”
“Yours. Title’s in your name. Insurance is paid for a year. It’s yours.”
He just stood there, looking between me and the car.
“I don’t—I can’t accept this.”
“Yes, you can. You gave me $500 when I needed it, when you had nothing, when your own father wouldn’t even talk to me. This is what that meant to me.”
He was crying now.
“Grandpa, this is too much.”
“It’s not enough. But it’s a start.”
He hugged me. He actually hugged me, not the obligatory holiday hug, but the kind that means something.
“I love you,”
He said.
“I love you too, kid.”
The Confrontation
Sunday afternoon, I got a call from Marcus.
“Dad, we need to talk. Nenah and I are coming over.”
They arrived at 2:00 p.m. Marcus was in his black Audi, and Nenah was in her white Mercedes.
Both of them were dressed like they were going to a country club. They walked in without knocking.
They saw Tyler in the driveway washing his new car with a huge smile.
“Whose car is that?”
Nenah demanded.
“Mine!”
Tyler called out, waving.
“Grandpa bought it for me.”
Marcus’ face went from confused to red in about three seconds.
“Dad. Kitchen. Now.”
We sat around my kitchen table, the same table where I’d fed them for 30 years.
It was where I’d helped with homework, listened to teenage drama, and tried to teach them to be decent human beings.
“Where did you get money for a car?”
Marcus said. His voice was tight and controlled, the voice he used in business meetings.
“I had some savings.”
“Bullshit.”
Nenah leaned forward.
“Last week you were begging us for medication money. This week you’re buying cars? What’s going on?”
“Was I begging?”
I kept my voice calm.
“I thought I was asking my children for help.”
“Don’t play games,”
Marcus snapped.
“How much did that car cost? 25,000? 30? Where did that money come from?”
I looked at him, at the Rolex on his wrist, and at Nenah’s designer purse sitting on my table.
“I decided not to buy my heart medication. Cars for loving grandsons seemed more important.”
The color drained from Nenah’s face.
“You what?”
“You heard me.”
“That’s insane!”
Nenah gasped.
“You can’t just stop taking your pills.”
“Oh, now you care about my health?”
“Dad, this isn’t funny,”
Marcus said.
“If you’re having some kind of—some kind of episode, we need to talk about getting you help.”
“Episode. That’s a nice word for it.”
“I’m serious. This behavior doesn’t make sense. You’re either lying about being broke or you’re having a breakdown.”
I stood up, walked to the living room, and came back with a folder. I slid it across the table.
“Let’s talk about money,”
I said.
The Ledger of Sacrifice
Marcus opened it. Inside were bank statements, loan records, and printouts I’d had Greg prepare.
“March 2022,”
I said.
“Marcus, you asked me for $20,000. Business cash flow problems, remember?”
His face went white.
“I took it out of my retirement savings. You said you’d pay me back. You never did.”
“Dad—”
“July 2022. You needed 40,000 to cover credit card debt. I sold bonds and left me… you said thank you once and never mentioned it again.”
I turned to Nenah.
“Nenah, your mortgage was three months behind. I gave you $18,000. You cried and said I saved your life. That was 15 months ago. You’ve called me twice since then, both times to ask for more money.”
“That’s not fair,”
She whispered.
“Your car transmission: 4,000. Melissa’s tuition: 8,000. Your property tax bill: 6,500.”
I laid out the statements—every transaction, every transfer, every check.
“Do you know how much I’ve given you both in the last three years?”
They didn’t answer.
“$147,000. Not loans. Gifts, because you never paid any of it back.”
The kitchen was silent.
“And when I called you? When I asked for $200 for medication I need to live? You blocked me, Marcus. You laughed at me, Nenah.”
Tyler appeared in the doorway. He’d been listening. His face was pale.
“You guys have been taking money from Grandpa?”
He said quietly.
“For years?”
“That’s different,”
Nenah said.
“We’re his children.”
“And I’m his grandson. He called me for help. I gave him every dollar I had. What did you give him?”
“A lecture,”
I said.
“About budgeting. About tough love. About assisted living.”
“Dad, if we’d known—”
Marcus started.
“If you’d known what? That I actually needed help? That I wasn’t just being dramatic? We thought—”
“You thought nothing. You didn’t think about me at all.”
