When I found what was left of my grandfather, he didn't look like he was any closer to God.

His flesh creaking like the bows of a tree. I might not have recognized what I was looking at if he hadn't whimpered at my light.

I'd only met him once before that.

I was about ten or so.

I had no idea about this strange man who turned up, claiming he was my grandfather.

For someone who believed cavemen rode dinosaurs, Elijah wasn't as weird as you might think.

He tracked us down when I was 13 and came over to Britain to visit us.

Dad had never mentioned his biological father, and while the old man seemed regretful about

the lost time, he didn't sit around crying about it either.

He was courteous but distant throughout, and he and dad parted ways after those two days

and never spoke again, at least not in person.

He did invite us to see him some day in Texas as he left, but it never happened.

Other than that, I remember that he sat me down one night to talk me through my math textbook,

told me about imaginary numbers and string theory.

Heavy stuff, but he made it accessible through

his simple yet earnest passion. It was only after he'd gone that Dad told me the old man

was a young Earth creationist. Believe the Earth was around 6,000 years old, and that every last solemn word in the Bible

was meant to be taken literally.

28 years later, and I was standing in the lobby of Elijah's privately owned museum that had

passed to me after my father's death.

Dad had never told me about either the museum or Elijah's own passing, but going through

his estate turned it up, and I was as surprised as anyone to find out I was now the owner

...