Two years ago, I gave my grandpa a different kind of gift. I gave him a picture. Not a photograph picture, but a word picture. A word picture of how I see him, and what he means to me. After reading what I had written him, that dear, sweet man with tears in his eyes said, "Honey, you need to write.." My response, "Grandpa, I do write..." "No, you need to share it with people."
Needless to say, I didnt take him up on his advice right away. To be honest, I was afraid and intimidated. Afraid - because it would mean sharing my thoughts on paper for everyone to see, and intimidated - because who really wants to read my stuff anyway..
But, despite my reservations, I have decided to take a leap of faith and be brave! Enough sitting back and letting my plethora of words build up on the hard drive of my computer! Enough letting my fears keep me from pursuing the things I love most. As said in my description, it isnt really about me, but about what I should be doing with what I have been given.
So in honor of my grandpa, one of the sweetest men I know, I begin my blog journey by sharing what I wrote for him. I hope you enjoy!
Him
The car door shut behind me and I hopped over the now empty flower beds onto the concrete sidewalk. “One, two, three, four, five.” Out of habit I counted the steps as I walked up to the door. My hand reached for the doorbell, but just in time I caught myself. He told me that he never heard it, so I opened the screen and gave a hard knock to that old door. Just as I was getting lost in thought, I heard movement on the other side of the door. “Click, click, click” The locks were undone, and the door slowly opened.
“Hey Elizabeth
I followed him into the house, slowly taking in the familiarity of my surroundings. The cactus was still standing guard at the front door, and the orange and black shag carpet still looked the same as it did when I was three. As we made our way up the stairs, I couldn’t resist letting my fingers brush lightly over the well-worn weave of that carpet. It’s funny how comforting the familiar is. When we reached the top of the stairs, I just couldn’t resist. I had to steal a kiss. He scowled at me, but then he always did when I reached my hand into the candy jar. Hershey kisses were a staple in the house, and if I didn’t take one he would tell me to get up and go get one for both of us. As we made our way into the living room, I noticed that although the television was on, the sound of baseball announcers was coming from the radio on the side table. How old was that radio anyway? We both sat down. Me with my handful of kisses, and him was his hand reaching for the volume dial on the radio.
We both sat there in comfortable silence watching the ballgame. But soon, I found myself watching him. It was hard to comprehend sometimes, the love that filled me whenever I looked at him. That ever present ball cap was on the top of his head. Today’s cap had a big “M” on the front in support of the local ball team, and as I kept watching, one hand adjusted his glasses while the other reached for his lighter. While he searched his pockets, I continued to watch him. How long had he had that sweater anyway? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that same flannel shirt for years, yet somehow he still could pull it off and look great. His hands finally found what they were looking for. With a click, the end of the lighter lit in flame, and the end of the cigarette began to glow. It’s funny how familiar and comforting smells can become. To this day I can still distinguish his brand from any other. And as strange as it may sound, it always makes me smile. Maybe it’s the association that the smell brings, or maybe it’s just the thought of him. Thoughts of him always make me smile.
One inning turned into two, and one smoke turned to three, and the daylight began to slowly fade in the window, yet we still sat there not saying much. When you are truly comfortable and at ease with a person, not much needs to be said. Glancing up at the clock, I realized I needed to go. Rising, I leaned over to him and kissed his weathered cheek.
“I love you. Take care and I’ll talk to you later.” I made my way down the stairs, absent-mindedly still counting them. I walked out the front door, pushing the lock just before I closed it behind me. Backing out of the driveway, I pulled out into the street. Just before I drove out of sight, I looked back. There he was as always, standing by the window, waving.
What a man! Who is this man you ask? This man was a husband, father, friend, soldier, neighbor, teacher. This man is a hero. This man is my friend. This man is my grandfather.
Happy Birthday to the man who captured my heart when he asked me to dance for the very first time.
I love you Grandpa - Bethy
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