A Grandpa Memory

On Christmas Day, at about 4am EST, my grandfather died. He was 96 and lived to see his children’s children’s children. He died without pain and was coherent almost to the end. Knowing that we’re all going to die, it’s not a bad way to go. In fact, his death mirrored his life in that he had always been a man who faced everything, at least those things that I saw him endure, with a quiet dignity and grace. Never once did I hear him complain about anything, not ever once.

He spoke very little. Certainly he had beliefs and opinions and would share them if asked. Once –about six years ago—I heard him launch into a tirade, a very short one, against George W. Bush and the Iraq war. My grandfather, like many of his generation, was a lifelong Democrat and had once been invited to the Democratic National Convention. His life had truly been one of service. He was in the Army just after WWII, spent almost thirty years in the fire service, was a member of community housing boards, and was always engaged in something at the church whether it was selling cards at bingo or taking a fire-watch shift at 2am when the church was threatened with arson. Not to mention the service inherent in raising a family and being a husband. By all accounts from everyone who knew him, he was always there when he was needed.

A remarkable life really. When people were speaking about him and things he had done in his lifetime, I could almost feel myself shrinking in my seat. Where would we be as a country if my generation was as engaged in the community the way my grandfather was? But that’s not this blog. If there was anything I could say that from my perspective I wish he’d been different about, I would wish he spoke more. All in all, I feel like I hardly knew him.

I have some general memories. My grandfather, with very little help, built the house that he and my grandmother (she died nine years ago) retired in. He worked on it six days a week, eight hours a day, through at least most of the year if not all of it for several years. In all the nails that go into a house, I’d guess he drove 80% of them if not more. He would spend time with us, not talking so much as just going for walks or ice cream, high school football games, stuff like that. When I saw him with my kids I could see him just delight in their presence and I think that comes across in the pictures.






I want to share one memory. It stands out as one instance where he completely broke his composure and showed a humorous side that I didn’t see often and it’s the enduring memory that I have of him. When I think of him, I think of this, even though it was a bit out of character. In sharing this, I have no intent of imparting any kind of greater message or lesson or any of that, it’s just a happy memory I want to share.

When I was a kid, my grandparents lived on Millionaire’s Row in Williamsport, PA. In the late 1800’s Williamsport had more millionaires per capita than any place else mostly due to the lumber industry. My grandparents we’re not millionaires. By the time they bought the house, the houses of Millionaire’s Row had been divided into apartments and the neighborhood seemed to be lower middle class. Anyway, their sea-foam green house (that's it right there though it was sold a few years ago and has been furhter divided) had rather large living room and during this particular instance, my grandfather was in his chair, reclined as far back as possible and soundly asleep. My brother and I were sitting in chairs that were perpendicular to his and faced each other. My mother and grandmother were on the two couches.

Any of you who have had the unfortunate experience of sleeping in the same area where I’m sleeping, will know that I snore, and snore egregiously. I get this trait from my grandfather and he is in rare form at the moment, so much so that the newspaper has been removed from the room to keep from being inhaled by him. Mom is doing a crossword puzzle (She is freakishly good at them and has since moved onto the more diabolical fill-it-in.) and I think my grandmother was sewing. There is also a Kerry Blue Terrier named Petunia (we called her Toonie) napping beside my grandfather’s chair. Other than the snoring, there’s not a sound in the house with the TV off. My brother and I are sitting in our chairs laughing each time my grandfather snores. Looking at the pictures, you might conclude that my grandfather was a man of slight build, and you would be wrong. He spent all that time in the fire service and after that was in construction and other labor intensive functions and he was really quite buff at the time and physically as capable as a man much younger. Within the last five years, he thinned out a lot but even still climbed on top of his roof to repair it while in his 90s. That starts to come across in this picture.
Anyway, he snores, we laugh. He snores, we laugh. He snores louder; we laugh harder and start rating the snores.

Snore.

That was about average.

Snore.

That was a good one.

Snore.

Oh. Wait, wait, maybe next one.

Snore.

Wow!
And on and on it went.

At some point, my grandfather woke up. I don’t know when, and more to the point, I don’t know how it was that he didn’t let on that he was awake. He kept making snoring sounds of varying intensity and we kept chuckling, hopelessly duped by the old man. Until…

He snored something like this:

SNORE!



At the same time he slammed the foot rest back into place and unreclined his chair even hopping to his feet.

Petunia, the dog, bolted from the room nearly peeing herself as she ran.

My brother and I both screeched like small girls until we realized what had happened and then laughed ourselves silly as did our grandfather who kept saying “Fooled you that time, didn’t I? I got you good.”

This story, like most, is diminished in the telling but I hope you get the picture all the same. Like I said, when I think of him, I remember this moment.

Farewell, Pop-Pop.


Y’all know I love ya.

Carl


©2011