Grandfathers, part 1

My maternal grandfather lived to age 91. I was in my early twenties and living overseas when he died. I was sad when he passed, but his time had come, and I had seen him before moving to Japan, so there were no regrets on my part for “not seeing him one last time,” or anything like that. Our affection for one another was rarely spoken, but neither was it a secret.

Grandpa lived in Eastern Connecticut until I was about 7 years old. I loved visiting him there. Their yard was sloping, with well-kept grass, surrounded by flowers and graceful trees. During the afternoons, he’d take us for walks down the hill to a corner store, where he’d buy us M & Ms and 7Up and ice cream. When I grew up, I learned he was making a power play for our affections by doing that, trying to ruin our appetites for whatever Grandma was cooking for supper, but at my young age, I knew nothing of such politics. Sadly, Grandma died with I was six. Grandpa remarried soon thereafter and moved to northern Illinois. Visits to him became less frequent, but much more of an adventure.

Grandpa loved the Boston Red Sox, and one time when we were visiting his house in Connecticut, my older brother told me that Grandpa was going to take my Dad and my brother to Fenway for a game the next day. I wanted to go, too, but Dad thought I’d be bored, so I was left behind. It was the only chance I’d had to see the Sox with all three of the men I admired most.

A more treasured memory of my time with Grandpa was his dark green, 1968 Ford Mustang. As a junior high school student visiting him in Illinois, I washed and waxed his Mustang every day. When I visited him in my college years, he let me drive that beauty. It’s a thrill I’ve never forgotten.

Many of Grandpa’s little sayings have stayed with me over the years, and my siblings and I remember him fondly. “Pip, pip!” he’d say on his way out the door. Soft-spoken, with a twinkle in his eye, he’d part with this advice: “Stay out of the rain and hot sun!”