Granddaddy

Many of my family members have been writing about memories of Grandaddy.  It’s not surprising, given that Grandaddy loved writing so much and he passed that love along to his children, grandchildren and many others.  It’s been both beautiful and sometimes difficult to read all these memories (only difficult because it makes me miss him more).  I feel unusually blessed though.  I’m the oldest grandchild and had the privilege of knowing him for 35.5 years.  I also lived with him and Mima for the last 18 months, a deep and wonderful blessing I will thank heaven for the rest of my life.

Inspired by the memories shared by other family members and because I find writing cathartic, I want to “put pen to paper” (or the modern digital equivalent) and share some of my most poignant memories.  Perhaps these are moments in time that would seem unimportant to the outside observer.  Nothing that will ever be recorded in the history books or glamorized on the silver screen.  In some cases, they may not even be remembered by anyone besides myself.  However insignificant they might appear to others, they are times that come readily to mind.  They are times experienced and moments shared that cemented into my consciousness, my very being, that I had a Grandaddy — and a Mima — who loved me very much. 

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I recall a time Lance and I went to the grocery store with Grandaddy.  I don’t remember which store, but I do remember that unlike today’s grocery stores which keep milk and dairy products refrigerated behind glass doors, this store had a refrigerated room that you had to walk into in order to find a gallon of milk, a cup of yogurt, or whatever.  I always hated that room.  Adults never seemed fazed by the temperature and took an inexplicably long time to find things.  Were the store employees always moving the milk around every day so that each label had to be read in detail before  feeling confident you were buying Grade-A pasteurized milk?  I’m sure that adults were not idling in this room but as a skinny little kid with no insulation on my bones, it felt like it took forever.  

On the visit in question, we survived the milk room and were out in the adequately heated part of the store — specifically the candy isle.  Maybe because of the longing looks on our face (or more likely, because he understood the things little boys care about), Grandaddy bought us each a pound bag of Skittles.  A pound!  Lance and I were, of course, elated but perhaps a little shocked too.  We got it into our heads that we needed to repay this extravagance so we left a few dollars and a "Thank You" note in his bedroom.  The next time we were in Orem Granddaddy pulled us aside, lovingly returned the money and told us in no uncertain terms that sometimes a Granddaddy gets to spoil his grandchildren.

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Another sweet memory was the few hours I spent with Granddaddy in Mesa, Arizona.  I had made the drive to Arizona with Mima and Granddaddy and were staying with Karen and her family.  One afternoon Grandaddy asked me if I wanted to get out of the house and take a drive.  We spent the next several hours driving to sites around the Mesa area.  Grandaddy showed me an old barn where he had visited as a boy.  He showed me several other sites that are still in existence that were part of his boyhood and part of our families' history.  As a capstone to this trip down memory lane, he took me to the house, within a stone-throw of the Mesa temple, where he had been born — not just the house where his family was living when he was born, but the actual house he had been born in (they didn’t go to the hospital for some reason…or maybe there was wasn’t a hospital at that time…I don’t know).  

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Granddaddy was a scholar.  Not just of the Spanish language (though he was certainly a scholar of that) but of many things.  On another drive to and from Mesa (or maybe the same one...I can’t remember) we talked about literature and his favorite poems and finally of Shakespeare.  I asked him about Macbeth, The Taming of the Shrew, The Comedy of Errors, The Merchant of Venice, Othello, Titus Andronicus, Twelfth Night…and so on.  He spoke with clarity and his characteristic articulateness.  He conversed about the plots and themes.  He quoted from them from memory (in his “quoting” voice…you know the one).  Sorry other English teachers, the best Shakespeare scholar on campus had his office in the Spanish department.  

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I remember mom telling me that it was horrible playing Scrabble or the Vocabulary Game with Granddaddy.  He knew every word there was!  He was also a good editor.  For years, I sent every major school paper I wrote though the gauntlet of Granddaddy.  It would come back with red pencil all over it!  The most important paper I probably ever wrote (the personal essay for medical school application) came back so marked up that I scrapped the whole thing and started over.  I’m assuming the re-write was better because I got in.  Thanks Granddaddy — I love my job!

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Granddaddy once told me that he wrote some of his best poetry while in Sacrament meeting.  Either because the speaker was inspiring and the spirit strong or because he was deathly board and seeking mental escape — either would do.  He would often share his poetry.  And only Granddaddy could read those poems exactly the right way.  He had a poetry voice (quite similar to his “quoting voice”).  The two poems that stick in my mind were the one about the sliver and the pocket knife and the one that mentioned Moses and the burning bush (he had to explain that one to me after reading it.  The explanation was beautiful).

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Others have already touched on other endearing memories which I shared as well — his affection for opera music and his tendency to sing it often (strangely his opera voice was similar to both his quoting voice and his poetry voice), his “scrapbook” enchilada sauce made from anything he found in the fridge, his dislike of “Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel”.  I loved all these and so much more.  

My sweet wife hit the nail on the head and I’ll finish this by quoting her.

"Sometimes, very rarely, you meet someone who's influence and goodness changes every person who is fortunate enough to come in contact with him.  A life done right.  Generations to come will continue to be blessed by his example.  I will be eternally greatful for him.  I can only imagine his homecoming in Heaven...We love and miss you Granddaddy.  Well done, and most of all, thank you”.

Until we meet again, Granddaddy...