Missing Them
While growing up, I spent most summers with my grandparents. I also spent most spring breaks there as well. Some of my earliest memories of them are at their house on Kentucky St. playing in their backyard.
My grandfather had setup an old Honda 50cc motorcycle with no wheels or engine on blocks. I’d spend hours on the thing making motorcycle noises with my mouth, and pretending to race it. I’m sure that, somewhere, there are photos of me wearing an oversized helmet while “riding” the motorcycle. My grandfather always made sure that I wore a helmet while riding motorcycles, and this was ingrained into me at a young age on a motorcycle that wouldn’t even move.
I also remember painting the wooden fence at my grandparents’ house white one summer. I must have been around 5 years old, going on 6. I don’t remember how much my grandfather paid me to do the work, but I do know that it was the first money that I ever earned.
While I was going to kindergarten, my mom would drop me off at my grandparents’ house in the morning. I’d crawl into bed with my grandfather, and we’d watch the morning news while my grandmother made me some oatmeal and toast for breakfast. We’d sit in bed while eating breakfast and talk about the news. I remember that my grandfather would always ask me what I thought about various news articles. We would sit and have intelligent conversations about world events. Looking back on it, this was a great thing that my grandfather did for me. It helped me develop an open and analytical mind at an early age. This really helped me in later years when I was on the debate team in junior high and high school.
When I was around 6, my grandfather bought an old Air Force barracks from the city, and had it moved out into the country. He worked on it for over a year to install walls, flooring, plumping, wiring, carpet, stairs, and everything else that goes into making a building a home. When I was 7, they moved from their small house on Kentucky street to Rankin Highway. I remember going out there to visit my grandfather while he worked on “The Big House”. I probably wasn’t much help at my young age, but I would follow my grandfather around while he did all sorts of tasks. I just wish that I had been more cognisant of events. I could have learned so much from him while he was doing his tasks.
Once my grandparents moved into The Big House, I’d spend countless hours there. The motorcycle that had its engine and wheels missing was rebuilt by my grandfather. He got me a helmet that would fit properly, and I’d spend hours racing around the teardrop shaped driveway that they had on their property. I would always imagine that I was in a motorcycle race with various cartoon characters. I’d have a running commentary in my head, and I didn’t always win. It seems like Scooby Doo always won the imaginary races. I think he somehow cheated.
With all of the room that my grandparents had at The Big House, they got a pool table setup upstairs. I’d spend hours shooting pool and learning the skills necessary to become a good billiards player. I’m rusty these days, but for as long as I was tall enough to see over the edge of the table, I was shooting pool. My arms were too short to use a full-sized stick, so I would take the front half of a stick and use just that. It severely limited the shots that I could take, but I learned to adjust for my restrictions. Years later, at a family reunion, I remember sharking a table and beating all comers. The deal was that the loser had to buy the winner a beer. I was underage, so the deal was if I lost, I bought a beer for the winner, but if I won, the loser had to give me five dollars. Over the course of the week, I ended up with almost $200 in my pocket.
Another thing that the extra room in the house gave me was the ability to wrestle with my grandfather. We’d get on the floor and grapple. We’d roll around on the ground, and have a good laugh while doing it. My grandfather could have easily pinned me and declared himself the winner, but not once did he do that. He always let me win. This is just one small example of the generosity and kindness that he showed me over the years. Growing up, I never did know that he let me win. It wasn’t until I was in high school, and I was thinking back on things that I realized this.
We’ll fast forward to when I was 12, going on 13, and I decided that I didn’t want to live with my mom any longer. I won’t go into the details, but I will say that I had finally grown old enough to realize that I didn’t feel safe in her house. Don’t worry. My mom has cleaned up her act, and is now one of the greatest people that I now these days. Anyway, I moved out of my mom’s house, and in with my grandparents. I never did ask them if I could do it. I just moved in during the summer, which was normal. When it came time for school to start, my mom showed up to take me home. I, being a typical teenager, rebelled against my mom. I demanded that she let me stay with my grandparents, and I made a big show over it. Not once did I ask my grandparents if I could stay with them. I just assumed that they would let me. I assumed correctly, but I wish that I had at least asked them if it was ok for me to stay with them. My grandfather calmed us both down, and told my mom that I would be staying with them for the first week of school. We could get together and talk it over on the weekend when everyone was more calm and collected. I nervous the whole first week of eighth grade that I would have to go back to my mom’s house. When the weekend came, we all sat down around the table and talked things over. My grandfather’s patience, wisdom, caring, and reasoning won the day. I got to stay with my grandparents, but I would have to visit my mom (who lived maybe a mile away down the road) on a regular basis because I was an important part of her life.
I lived with my grandparents until I was almost 19 years old. I decided to try to make it on my own, and I think that they were heartbroken that I was leaving. I know that my grandmother was crushed, but my grandfather knew that it was time for me to try living on my own. I had my ups and downs (more downs that ups, really) over the course of the next four years. Every time I did something good, my grandparents were there to congratulate me, and tell me what a good job I was doing. Every time I did something bad, they were there to rescue me (mostly with financial help,) and to tell me that I hoped I had learned my lesson, and that I wouldn’t do it again.
It wasn’t until I was 23 that I finally started to get my life on track. I moved to San Antonio from my home town to be with my mom (who had moved there 8 years prior.) My grandfather gave me a few hundred dollars and told me that it would have to last me until I got a job and started earning my own way. The money barely lasted me until my first paycheck, but it got me there. When I finally got a job in San Antonio my first call was to my grandparents to tell them the good news. They could tell how excited and happy I was to finally get back on my feet. I could hear in their voices how proud they were of me. I could also tell that they weren’t as excited as I was because I had gone through quite a few jobs in the previous year.
A year later I was still at that job, and I had fallen in love with Kiara. I was planning on moving to Montana to be with her, and when I told my grandparents about this, they were hesitant. Moving to Montana for someone that I had only met once in person was a huge leap. However, my grandfather told me that it was a good thing that I was getting out and exploring the world. He had lived all over the United States while in the Army, and while doing oil exploration all over the place. He knew that it would be good for me to get out of Texas, and see more. When I moved to Montana, my grandfather told me that I may not be able to find a job right away, and he gave me some cash to tide me over. I had pre-paid a month’s rent up in Montana, and I had some money saved up, but the extra really helped.
When Kiara and I got married in Montana, we had a reception in Texas for my family to meet her. It was held at The Big House, and I got to see quite a bit of family that I had not seen in years. It was a good time, and I think Kiara made a great impression on my family. When Kiara and I left my grandparents’ house to head back to Montana, I sat down with my grandfather and told him, “Thank you.” He asked me what I was thanking him for. I swallowed my tears, and told, “For everything. For everything you’ve done since before I can remember to this very day, and for putting me on a road to success and happiness. There’s no way I can repay everything that you’ve done, but I can at least say, ‘Thank you.’” We got up from the table and hugged. It was the best hug that I’ve ever received.
Later that year found Kiara and me in Colorado, and I talked to my grandparents on a pretty regular basis. I went to visit them a few times over the years, and I could tell that they were growing more old and infirm. I wished that could move back in with them at The Big House, but there’s no way I could convince Kiara to do that, so I never brought it up to her.
A few years later, my grandmother passed away. She had a debilitating stroke a decade earlier, and had struggled with poor health ever since. She always wanted to drive after her stroke. Her freedom and independence had been stripped away from her by her stroke, and all she wanted to do was get out of the house on her own. That never did happen. Some people picture their lost loved ones running, jumping, playing, and skipping through Heaven. Not my grandmother. She’s driving through Heaven on the way to the Great Shopping Mall In The Sky!
The next year, my grandfather passed away. I knew that he wouldn’t be too far behind my grandmother. They had been together for almost 60 years, and I could tell that the only reason my grandfather was holding on was to care for my grandmother. I’m really amazed that he made it the year. I was expecting it to be closer to two weeks, but that just goes to show how strong of a man my grandfather was. Shortly before my grandfather passed away, he called me. When I answered the phone he clucked his tongue at me. I knew right away who it was. That’s how he would always get my attention. He told me that it was the first sound that I would respond to as a baby. He would always pick me up and cluck his tongue at me, and that would make me smile. It still does. Sometimes, when I’m feeling down, I cluck my tongue and think of my grandfather.
It’s now been five years since my grandfather’s passing, and this is the first time that I’ve really written anything about them with any substance. I’ve shed tears for their loss over the years, but never as much as I have while writing this entry. The emotions that I’ve felt during this writing have ranged from loss to happiness to pain to compassion to hurt to warmth. There have been a handful of times that I’ve typed blindly because I couldn’t see the screen through my tears, but I had to keep going for fear of stopping because of the sense of loss.
I miss my grandparents horribly, but I still carry with me their memories, (some of) their wisdom, their kindness, and their love. No matter what happens to me I’ll never be alone. I just have to close my eyes, cluck my tongue, and thank God that I had such wonderful people in my life.
To Granny and Papa,
Thank you.
You grandson, J.T.
