My maternal grandfather was a quiet man with sparkling blue
eyes and breath that smelled of his beloved Dunkin Donuts coffee. Large, with
cream, no sugar. Same way my mom takes
it. Same way I take it.
He grew up in poverty, in rural Texas but my memories of his
voice have no trace of a Texas accent. He said years of living in Chicago,
where he moved when his Yankee new bride (Grandma) couldn’t handle Texas, had
caused it to fade.
As far as my siblings and I were concerned, Grandpa was a
real life superhero. At 16, he lied about his age and joined the Navy during
WWII, knowing it was the only way he could get out of poverty. He could fix anything; often coming over to do
odd jobs around the house and fix the things his destructive grandsons broke.
Compared to our paternal grandparents and the grandparents of friends, he was
extremely fit. He could flex his arms, body builder style, and we could hang
from his biceps. He was bench-pressing
over 180 well into his late 70s. Despite not finishing high school, he learned
and enjoyed the intricacies of the stock market, creating a secure financial
future for he and Gram.
Most importantly, our Grandfather was incredibly patient.
Patience I have only seen in one other person- my husband. While my childhood memories have been reduced
to glossy snapshots, I rarely recall a time when he was upset or
frustrated. The occasional “Aww Come
ON!” yelled during his beloved Texas A&M football game was the closest he came
to raising his voice. Perhaps he got annoyed when he had a bad round of golf or
bowling match. He did give an eye roll and heavy sigh when all of his
granddaughters declared themselves politically liberal. (Hilary 2016!). My mom says this wasn’t patience earned over
time. He was like this during her childhood as well. Being gentle was just his nature.
But there was one time. One time he cracked. The events
leading up to it and the events immediately after are hazy. I’m not even sure how old I was but it was at
least in high school, if not my early years of college. I was in the kitchen
when I heard my grandfather cry out from the living room below.
“These damn kids just can’t take care of anything”.
He said damn. Grandpa
said damn. We all froze and our faces
fell. It’s not like we hadn’t heard the word before. Mom occasionally throw out a “shit” when
something dropped and broke. Dad was no stranger to the F-bomb. But Grandpa was different. He simply didn’t
swear because he didn’t get upset, especially at his grandkids.
While I don’t remember specifics, I do remember a gut
feeling that something wasn’t right. And
it wasn’t. As time went out his
frustrations grew and his patience receded. His hands became less nimble,
keeping him from being the primary handyman. Names were forgotten. The words on his Wall Street Journal stopped
making sense. Slowly and painfully he
drifted into dementia and his amazing blue eyes stopped sparkling. We lost our
beloved Gramps long before he died.
I try not to think of his final few years. I choose to
remember the superhero of my childhood instead. Still, the time Grandpa swore
will always haunt me, not for the word, or the sentiment behind it, but because
it was our first signal something wasn’t right.
This post was inspired by Mama Kat’s Pretty Much World
Famous Writer’s Workshop prompt “The first time you heard your parents cuss”.
3 comments:
A lovely tribute, and a nice reminder that little moments can be so significant. Visiting from Mama Kat's.
"We lost our beloved Gramps long before he died." well put. Have taken care of many a patient with dementia and the heartache for the family is immense. Beautifully written
{{{Hugs}}} Your post brought tears to my heart. My grandma had Alzheimer's. On the day that my grandpa died, my grandma called me "Mama". She couldn't process what was happening in the other room with Grandpa and she needed her mama. I was there. Like the moment in your post, it is one that will stick with me forever.
I am so sorry that the heartache of dementia touched your family, too, but am so glad that you have such wonderful memories of your grandpa. I agree, they are superheros. :)
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