Granddaddy February 24, 1915 - February 25, 2006

The Man.
I remember Granddaddy as a big man. A big presence. A big voice. I was always very cautious of him as a little girl. Not afraid really, but cautious. Careful. I remember marveling at how easily Lori would jump up in his lap. We joked that she was the favorite. Maybe she was just the one with the least inhibitions.

The Race.
Granny and Granddaddy had an old tricycle at their house that we all rode. It was red and had one huge wheel up front with two small wheels at the rear. It looked like one you would see clowns riding at a circus. One day when I was about ten, I was riding through the gravel of their driveway. Granddaddy was coming in from the shed. I saw him approaching and began to pedal quickly towards the garage door. He saw my game, and to my surprise, played along. He began running toward the door to beat me. In my head I remember thinking, "Silly man, Granddaddies aren't supposed to run". But he did. And he beat me there. And he smiled.

Daddy-Daddy.
Easton called him Daddy-Daddy. He's never made up a name for any other person. But he called him Daddy-Daddy.

Church.
Growing up I always liked the singing part of the service best. I would look in the bulletin and count down the songs until the preaching would begin. I've learned a lot about music from church. When I was in HS and learning basic music theory I would read through the hymn book and analyze chords. But when I was little, I would learn the bass line from Granddaddy. Looking back, I'm not positive if he actually sang a harmonic bass line or just sang along the melody three octaves lower than normal. But he sang the "comes". Every Mother's Day, Triune Methodist Church would sing the "Little Brown Church in the Wildwood".
At the chorus the women would sing:
O come, come, come, come,
Come to the church in the wildwood
O come to the church in the vale
No church is as dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale
And the men - they would sing:
O come, come, come, come,
come, come, come, come,
come, come, come, come
Come to the church in the vale
No church is as dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale.
Thirteen. They would continue to sing, "come, come, come" thirteen times until they caught up with the women. This was by far, Granddaddy’s best song.

The chair.
I guess every man has a chair. Now days it would be a recliner. But Granddaddy didn't have a recliner until he was much older. His was a green club chair that sat downstairs next to the fireplace. If you knew where to look then you could usually find a tub of orange slices hidden next to it. It didn't swivel, rock or recline. But that didn't prevent him from taking a nap after lunch. According to Granddaddy he never took a nap. He would just rest his eyes a bit. Or study his eyelids. Granddaddy also had a metal folding chair. The folding chair was more of a work chair. He would sit it by the furnace and keep the fire going or keep it in the shop when the days were nice. I have many memories of driving up the driveway and being greeted by Granddaddy sitting in the doorway of his shop.

The Footstool.
If you ever come to our house, take a look at the footstool in front of the couch. Granddaddy made that. Several years ago he was cleaning out the shed in preparation for the big move. I noticed the footstool in a pile to be trashed. When I asked about it he told me that it was just junk. "I made that old thing when I was in eighth grade - it ain't worth nothing." I tried twice to take it and twice he tried to stick it in the trash. Quickly, I put it in the trunk of my car and still have it today. Eighth grade - that would have been roughly 1927? The material has frayed and will soon come completely off, but I find it beautiful.

The Slumber Party.
I loved spending the night at my grandparent's house. If all three of us were there, Granny would let us take the chairs from the basement and use old sheets to create our own hide-out. But if I went by myself, then I always got to sleep with Granny and Granddaddy in the king size bed. Granddaddy snored. Loudly. So Granny and I would always lay down first so we could get to sleep before Granddaddy did. I remember scootching myself up next to her pillow to fall asleep. But that was before I knew about gravity. Had I known about gravity, I might have put my head on Granddaddy’s pillow because that is where I would end up every time. I remember waking up in the middle of the night wondering how in the world I had gotten snuggled up next to Granddaddy’s side of the bed. I would scootch back over to Granny just to wake up the next morning beside that familiar smell of cologne.

Mealtime.
If you stood facing the kitchen table, then Granddaddy’s seat was the first one on the left. I usually sat in the chair across from him beside the back door or one seat over, depending on who was present at the meal. For some reason I equate food with comfort. Maybe it's a southern thing. It doesn't matter if someone is sick or celebrating; food seems to be the answer. Food at Granny's house was the ultimate comfort. As you walked up the stairs into the kitchen the first thing you saw was the stove. There was always something on the stove. We even had our very own cabinet where she kept the "fun" cereals and chips that were only for the grandchildren. Downstairs in the freezer she would bring home the little ice cream cups from school for us to eat. We even used the wooden spoons. Granddaddy taught me that the fat was the best part of the steak - where the flavor lies. I was reprimanded more than once for trying to cut it away and leave it on my plate. And he taught me to say grace. I had always said the blessing before a meal. But Granddaddy called it grace. He used the same prayer every time. I wish I could remember all of it but only one part remains in my head. "....and forgive us where we fail Thee." Grace.