Remembering Grandpa
Few people were as constant as my grandparents in my life. Growing up, we had the unique opportunity to be the only grandchildren on my mother's side. We were spoiled, loved and cared for in a way which would not have been possible had there been more of us. We knew where we stood and that we were a priority. I figured everyone talked to their grandparents on a weekly basis and had them visit for months at a time. It was not until I was older I realized this was not the norm.
Holidays were celebrated with special cards (the thick kind requiring extra stamps) and money. Birthdays brought the all important phone call accompanied by singing. There really was no greater boost to my confidence than when I was put in charge of answering the phone for the evening because everyone who was calling was most likely calling for me. There was magic before caller id, there was mystery and anticipation when the phone rang.
Several weeks before we arrived they would start inquiring about our eating preferences. Did we want Fruit Loops, Cheerios or some other sugary cereal our parents might not buy? Did we want bologna or ham? What kind of pies did we want my Grandpa to make? What time might we arrive and what would we like waiting for us to eat when we did?
Although my grandparents lived 1200 miles, the distance rarely seemed too great. Multiple times a year we would load up the family mini van and make the trek down to Southern California for sunshine, good food and spoiling galore. It wasn't until our visit was over, the car was packed and we would get in line to hug my grandparents that the lump in my throat would start to form. As they stood on their front porch waving goodbye until we were out of sight we would hang out the windows, crane our necks and do the same. People who truly loved each other said goodbye like this. I don't remember my mother's crying having much an effect on me when I was young. But when I noticed tears running down her face as we started to pull away, they would often form in my own eyes. People who truly loved each other cried when they parted.
Through my adolescence I lived in a world of comfort, good food and plenty of supportive people in my life. I felt like my grandparents were an extension of the love, happiness, and security I felt at home minus the rules, chores and strictness. My grandparents had far more channels to watch on television, kept candy in dishes around the house and had t.v. trays we could use to eat on in the living room. Our biggest decisions while we were there was when we wanted to swim, what mall me wanted to visit and how much sunscreen we should apply.
Yesterday marked what would have been my Grandfather's 95th birthday. He was the man who kept a stash of red vines in his bedroom, loved baseball and is one of the few people in my life allowed to call me by a nickname. He was a fantastic story teller, had a larger than life personality and demonstrated through his actions how food is love made visible. We share a strikingly similar profile and he is who I eventually named my son after. Somedays I miss him terribly, but most days I like to think of him taking good care of my son until I am with him again.
