Growing up, Grampie was one of my biggest heroes. I cherished every moment I spent with him, no matter what we were doing. Even if it was something I didn't enjoy, such as doing the dishes after a dinner in the screen room in Northwood or eating Grammie's god awful microwaved hot dogs at said dinner, if Grampie was a part of the occasion, I cherished it. There was a kind of magic that I felt in his presence, something that at the time I attributed to the change of scenery when I'd spend the night at Grammie and Grampie's in Northwood, or a few days in Bradenton, FL, or go out for dinner at Weathervane, but I realized years later that this magic was a feeling effected by Grampie's embodiment of "the good old days", or so it seemed to me. I was too young to have remembered "the good old days" when I was aware of this magical feeling; since I was less than a decade old, "the good old days" might as well have been "last week", but I was aware enough, even then, that the world had existed before I was born (hard to imagine, I know, but just trust me). I learned from watching movies and hearing stories that "the good old days" were days when youngsters could steal a car, shoot guns, disappear on adventures for days without causing a panic, get in harmless brawls, sneak cigarettes and beer from their parents, etc. and while Grampie endorsed NONE of this behavior, it felt as if that was the wild life Grampie had lived as a boy and so therefore by being in his company, I could enjoy a little taste of the wild, boys will be boys, "good old days". And while Grampie and I never stole a car, got in harmless brawls, or snuck cigarettes and beer from anybody, we did have some incredible adventures together, and ones that felt reminiscent of an anything-goes, wild yesteryear for boys that I had been born too late to experience.
Every morning in Northwood, I would wake early and run down the road to meet Grampie and walk together to the causeway to catch snakes. Occasionally Grammie would join us, and sometimes a brother or cousin would join us as well, but after one or two early morning walks, most of the brothers and cousins failed to see the excitement in our walks and soon retired their post in our walking group. So, in the end, it was Grampie and I, walking to the causeway every morning in search of snakes. While the actual hunt for snakes was invigorating, like I was hunting prehistoric anaconda in the Amazon jungle, it was the time spent with Grampie that I truly enjoyed. I was reliving his boyhood, it seemed, and that was the best feeling I could ever ask for, and one that I would wake early every morning to experience. As life went on and I got older and Grampie got older, our walks became a thing of the past and eventually so did my snake-hunting. But our bond never faded and we found new connections to embrace, even if they had nothing to do with snakes or guns or stealing cars and getting in boyhood brawls. Even when I would spend a few days in Palm Beach, pushing Grampie and Grammie on their wagon train of wheelchairs from store to store in the mall in search of a clock (don't ask me why...), I couldn't help but feel that we were on a grand boyhood adventure again.
I learned many invaluable life lessons from Grampie that I will carry with me until the end of my life and hopefully pass on to my children and others, but I can't say that Grampie taught me how to be a man as much as, say, my father did. Instead, Grampie taught me how to be a boy, and how to hold on to the imagination, sense of adventure, insatiable curiosity, and unconditional joy of boyhood throughout my adult life. Anyone that knows me well knows that these values have not waned in the slightest.
As Grampie neared the end of his life over the past few years, I made it a point to still see him periodically and spend quality time together, whether it was by spending a few days in Florida with him and Grammie, or stopping by to see him in Melrose more recently, because I knew that when he was gone, I would regret not having made time to see him and because I wanted to keep our magic bond intact right up until the end of his life. I know there are probably many people who saw something unique in Grampie's eyes when he saw them in the past few years and I believe every one of them; even in Grampie's increasing state of dementia, I'm sure there were many of us in whom he recognized something beyond just our name or our relationship to him - a special bond, connection, ethic, etc. - and we probably each saw in his eyes an awareness of the unique association. For me personally, I like to think, and do firmly believe, that the look I saw in his eyes, that brief moment of subtly excited familiarity, was him remembering reliving some parts of his boyhood with me when I was a boy, hunting snakes at the causeway on our summer morning walks in Northwood.
Rest in Peace, Grampie! Love you always, Paul.
