How do you put into words the memories of a great man? As I sit here and reminisce on our grandfather/granddaughter relationship, I struggle to convey in words what we shared. At a very young age he instilled in me a passion for two things, music and art/writting. Hence, I find it very ironic becuase he actually taught me to hold a pen. Yes, it was he who spent countess hours at the infamous kitchen counter with me high up on his knee attempting to show me the proper way to hold a pencil. I remember the struggles as his giant hand covered mine, moulding my tiny fingers around it, never once loosing patience with me. During my many failed proper pencil holding lessons he did manage to teach me to write words and draw houses and bottles (which to this day draw the same way). Also, I cant hep but play back snippits of those memories everytime I catch myself dwelling on my ugly writters callous located out of place on my ring finger...because I STILL hold the pencil WRONG! I've never told him that.
                   Unlike teaching me to write and draw ( or attempting to at least) his lessons in music were much less formal. There was no sit down introduction to tempo, chords or pitch, for the most part it may have been purely incidental. My classroom was the front seat of a hot truck, our intruments were our voices and our metronome...his steady flat hand slapping the dash above the steering wheel.Rides into town were always serenaded with songs of days gone by or forgotten tavern jingles. There was the rare occasion when he was not the one to initiate the symphony, when he was deep in thought no doubt pondering the trials that plagued adulthood, like money, love and life. However if I asked for a song to be sang, the answer was never no. He would set aside his world of thought to strike up "the doors swing in , the doors swing out. Where some pass in and others pass out..." Sometimes I would just listen, other times I would sing along bouncing in the seat besides him like the rubber bands that adourned the shifter.
               I hold these memories near and dear to my heart because they were just ours. These are not camcorders at Christmas memories or hot July BBQs, this isnt the "swim suit" story, these are our one -on-one, take these memories and pass them on moments. So I sing those songs to my sons when a bedtime story just wont suffice or a car ride begins to take its toll and when doodle time arises at home or in a long meeting those familiar bottles make their way onto the page. This is how he lives on in my heart, he was a good man and he did good by me. He was what you wanted stories of grandpa to be about.

Stephanie is right. Some things should be simply left alone, The first time I came upon my father in this suit I I screamed like a 12 year old at a Donny Osmond concert in 1974. He came up like a wounded bull, "Oh for the love of Christ!Do you all think I would lay around with nothing on?". Apparently I wasn"t the first one to make the wrong assumption. Shortly after he went to solid dark suits.

In recent years, my grand father and I held an "event" based relationship, meaning we primarily saw eachother at birthday parties, BBQ's ect. Life tends to keep us busy, and though unintentional, I now wish I had gone farther out of my way to keep in a more consistent contact. Some of my strongest morals, and understanding, I learned from him. I remember as a child, sitting at my grandparents counter, my grandfather lighting a "Kent" cigarette, refilling his coffee, telling me stories of his travels, the military, and how no man was black or white, but that we are all green. A saying he learned in the Army, meaning all men fight together, as equals. When he would take me driving, he would sing, not to the radio, but songs that he loved that were long sense forgotten. My favorites were "Waltzing Matilda", and "Behind Those Swinging Doors". The ability to turn off the nonsense and full body sing, with no shame, it was simple things like that, that made him amazing. I remember as a child him testing the pool ph 8 times before he'd let us get in, and always pushing the youngest kids to learn to swim. When we thought we had succeeded, he'd make a grand point to get everyone around the pool for the "two lap test". The challenge to swim from one end to the other, when completed, was followed by roaring cheers of encouragement, like you had won a 10k race. My grandfather had survived 52 years of marrage, three daughters, serving three different military branches, and the loss of three grand children. He was strong, honorable, and deserved a rest. And that's how I like to think of him, not as taken from us, or cheated in life, but a hard working, loving man who was finally able to stop and rest, to see his grand children that he's missed so much, and to watch over my grandmother as she bravely makes her way through this. Rest in peace grandpa.