My memory is a bit foggy now and no matter how hard I try, I cannot conjure the exact expressions of a man I came to know as Granddaddy many years ago. Granddaddy was a peaceful and attentive man, a perfect blend of gentleness and grace, and although I knew him for a just a matter of years, he left a profound impact on my life. He was a farmer first and foremost, a painter in later life, and a grandfather to my brother and me. He took an in-depth interest in us, not because we were his only grandchildren, but because he loved us, as his actions and subtle nature proved through and through. His was a rare relationship that required no explanations or pretenses and his kindness was as pure and present as I have ever encountered in all my years. I found him, at the age of 5 years old, very honest and precise. His name became my name at my birth and his legacy is something I am proud to carry.
As the years go by and my age expands, I can’t help but wish I knew more of my maternal grandfather. I wish I had the opportunity to spend more time with him; picking the adventures out of his mind’s eye like my youngest daughter picks at stray strands of grass on a glorious summer’s day. I still value the impression he had on my life and the memories make me yearn to pay-forward his brand of child-rearing to my children.
In the end, it was cancer that took him from us but not before his shadow was etched firmly on this earth and especially not before he impacted the lives of his grandchildren. His reputation was strong, but around my household, he was best known for his animal crackers; a simple memory of happy times highlighted by graham cracker elephants, giraffes, and monkeys. Animal Crackers were Granddaddy’s calling card and my what a calling card they were.
The box was red and yellow and still is to the best of my knowledge. I recall a golden background and animals in cages ready to be wheeled into the big top. The writing on the box simply stated its contents. Even now, I can recall the joy a simple box of animal crackers would bring, not just for snack value but as Granddaddy’s extremely clever entrance. When the animal crackers arrived, so did Granddaddy and his stay would mean only one thing; Granddaddy was all ours for the next few hours while the folks suited up and headed out on the town.
This realization soon became legendary in my household. It was abuzz from the moment we caught wind of the evening’s grand scheme. Sure, we had fun with our other baby- sitters, as most kids do, especially the pretty ones, but with Granddaddy it was different. He did not seem to be bothered by our childish antics like the others. He seemed rather at home with children and his comfort with us never seemed to waiver. With Granddaddy present and in charge, the brother’s Frame would play games we only dreamt of in Granddaddy’s absence; games that parents disallow, babysitters fear, and granddaddies supervise. Games like couch jumping, stair diving, furniture moving, and dog chasing. All the while, Granddaddy would sit and supervise, watching us with the precision of a hawk, eyes tightly fixed on its next meal. He allowed the games as long as he provided the safety; should our youthful abundance turn to tom foolery in his aged eyes. Granddaddy did not put up with tom foolery and we were well versed in keeping inside these bounds. In his adventures in babysitting, I still remember the animal crackers the most as if there is something more to be gleaned from the crackers of my youth.
In our travels, short stops at a particular country store were routine when you rode in Granddaddy’s pickup truck to the farm. The store was a classic country market equipped with all the stereotypical backdrops; people at the counter talking, some sitting, others were slumped over leaning on one knee or the other. Everyone was friendly and spoke as we strode passed.
I vividly remember the store’s wooden floor and various knots in each plank. Over multiple visits, I picked my favorite knot and looked for it on each visit. It vaguely resembled something, kind of like a cloud does from time to time, and I made certain to find it while Granddaddy made small talk with one of the regulars. It was my way of finding comfort in the vast world that Granddaddy traversed as if I was finding my mark on the land. I had been here before and the knot was my proof.
The air inside smelled musty, but not too musty as it carried the faint scent of candy and other treats we were there to inspect. In each aisle, my mind would wander into another world. Another spot on the floor might trigger a 10-minute daydream. Everything just seemed so new, as if I had entered parallel universe where my mind was free to roam the immeasurable realm of my surroundings without restraint. My thoughts would explode with revelation and my mind would construct the next adventure, again and again, until a gentle tug on my collar brought me back to reality.
I loved the trips to the country store and even though I can’t remember how often Granddaddy took me, I do know it was a grand event. I felt calm with him. It was almost as if he was showing me the world from his perspective. A world of soft-spoken grace only the country can achieve. His favorite store became a child’s haven, this I can remember fully. Perhaps this old county store, rooted in Kentucky tradition, is where he first bought the animal crackers that would become my grandest memory of all. If only I knew.
Granddaddy’s farm was not too far from the country store. It was not an elaborate farm but a quaint property completely protected from any hint of urban sprawl. It possessed gently rolling hills covered in sway grass and cows seemed to roam peacefully without any indication of their fate. Crooked paths of worn trails zigged and zagged across the farm in all directions. I can remember the farmhouse perched high upon a hill somewhat overlooking the pastures below. There was nothing special about the house other than the notion that it was my grandfather’s and his father’s before him. The front porch held flawlessly positioned chairs, perfect for an afternoon break filled with lemonade and small talk. From time to time grandfatherly advice would be dispensed beneath the shade tree in the front yard as if time were standing still and we were all that mattered in the world.
I can still gather the feelings of my childhood trips to Granddaddy’s farm. They come from nowhere, on random days, with no rhyme or reason as if to remind me of bygone moments and childhood memories. These are peaceful feelings, when they come, which leave a quiet calm on my heart as they exit my mind. I cannot forget them yet I cannot totally recall them either; an interesting duality, yet nevertheless, the truth. One thing I am certain of; we shared animal crackers on that farm many a time.
Cancer came to Granddaddy when I was five years old. Of all the memories I have of my grandfather, I cannot recall how I learned of his illness. Perhaps one of my parents shared the news with me in a way only a parent is capable of doing. I cannot imagine how they felt nor do I want to try. I surmise the first defining moment in my life took place when I was too young to understand the reality in the word cancer. Maybe that is a blessing. For awhile it seemed as if nothing has changed. I could still see Granddaddy and he would spend time with us as always. The animal crackers still came like clockwork, as did the smiles, with his arrival. But as his cancer progressed, he began to deteriorate.
Some of my final memories of Granddaddy exist with me standing next to his nursing home bedside where he lived his final days. They are dark images with my mother and brother at my side. Or maybe I was at theirs. We would visit after school while my father was at work; he would go back later, most times alone. The cancer which confined Granddaddy to his bed, carved a pain so deep on his face that I find it inconceivable to explain in words. His struggles to roll over became daily endeavors, all the while the farmer inside of him was enclosed in a square room with the sun reaching him only through a narrow window’s pane. He was at the mercy of his illness; mercy which would never come until death kindly carried Granddaddy home. He died on my birthday; I was six years old.
Many years have passed since Granddaddy made his mark on this earth. I can only hope the legacy Granddaddy left me can be passed to future generations as my time on earth becomes apparent and my children look to me for gentleness and leading. Granddaddy was a great teacher, especially for a child my age. His knowledge was not factual but observational and his instruction came in the form of a pickup truck and a country store. His sights were earnest and genuine while his being enveloped the land he loved so much. He helped me see compassion, strength, quiet resilience, and absolute follow through. I can still feel his memories and when they come, I’ve learned to take notice.
My biggest memory of the man I came to call Granddaddy, however, will always be of his animal crackers. Who would have ever thought a simple graham cracker cookie could mean so much to a child. But that was just his nature; simplicity in its rarest form.
As the years go by and my age expands, I can’t help but wish I knew more of my maternal grandfather. I wish I had the opportunity to spend more time with him; picking the adventures out of his mind’s eye like my youngest daughter picks at stray strands of grass on a glorious summer’s day. I still value the impression he had on my life and the memories make me yearn to pay-forward his brand of child-rearing to my children.
In the end, it was cancer that took him from us but not before his shadow was etched firmly on this earth and especially not before he impacted the lives of his grandchildren. His reputation was strong, but around my household, he was best known for his animal crackers; a simple memory of happy times highlighted by graham cracker elephants, giraffes, and monkeys. Animal Crackers were Granddaddy’s calling card and my what a calling card they were.
The box was red and yellow and still is to the best of my knowledge. I recall a golden background and animals in cages ready to be wheeled into the big top. The writing on the box simply stated its contents. Even now, I can recall the joy a simple box of animal crackers would bring, not just for snack value but as Granddaddy’s extremely clever entrance. When the animal crackers arrived, so did Granddaddy and his stay would mean only one thing; Granddaddy was all ours for the next few hours while the folks suited up and headed out on the town.
This realization soon became legendary in my household. It was abuzz from the moment we caught wind of the evening’s grand scheme. Sure, we had fun with our other baby- sitters, as most kids do, especially the pretty ones, but with Granddaddy it was different. He did not seem to be bothered by our childish antics like the others. He seemed rather at home with children and his comfort with us never seemed to waiver. With Granddaddy present and in charge, the brother’s Frame would play games we only dreamt of in Granddaddy’s absence; games that parents disallow, babysitters fear, and granddaddies supervise. Games like couch jumping, stair diving, furniture moving, and dog chasing. All the while, Granddaddy would sit and supervise, watching us with the precision of a hawk, eyes tightly fixed on its next meal. He allowed the games as long as he provided the safety; should our youthful abundance turn to tom foolery in his aged eyes. Granddaddy did not put up with tom foolery and we were well versed in keeping inside these bounds. In his adventures in babysitting, I still remember the animal crackers the most as if there is something more to be gleaned from the crackers of my youth.
In our travels, short stops at a particular country store were routine when you rode in Granddaddy’s pickup truck to the farm. The store was a classic country market equipped with all the stereotypical backdrops; people at the counter talking, some sitting, others were slumped over leaning on one knee or the other. Everyone was friendly and spoke as we strode passed.
I vividly remember the store’s wooden floor and various knots in each plank. Over multiple visits, I picked my favorite knot and looked for it on each visit. It vaguely resembled something, kind of like a cloud does from time to time, and I made certain to find it while Granddaddy made small talk with one of the regulars. It was my way of finding comfort in the vast world that Granddaddy traversed as if I was finding my mark on the land. I had been here before and the knot was my proof.
The air inside smelled musty, but not too musty as it carried the faint scent of candy and other treats we were there to inspect. In each aisle, my mind would wander into another world. Another spot on the floor might trigger a 10-minute daydream. Everything just seemed so new, as if I had entered parallel universe where my mind was free to roam the immeasurable realm of my surroundings without restraint. My thoughts would explode with revelation and my mind would construct the next adventure, again and again, until a gentle tug on my collar brought me back to reality.
I loved the trips to the country store and even though I can’t remember how often Granddaddy took me, I do know it was a grand event. I felt calm with him. It was almost as if he was showing me the world from his perspective. A world of soft-spoken grace only the country can achieve. His favorite store became a child’s haven, this I can remember fully. Perhaps this old county store, rooted in Kentucky tradition, is where he first bought the animal crackers that would become my grandest memory of all. If only I knew.
Granddaddy’s farm was not too far from the country store. It was not an elaborate farm but a quaint property completely protected from any hint of urban sprawl. It possessed gently rolling hills covered in sway grass and cows seemed to roam peacefully without any indication of their fate. Crooked paths of worn trails zigged and zagged across the farm in all directions. I can remember the farmhouse perched high upon a hill somewhat overlooking the pastures below. There was nothing special about the house other than the notion that it was my grandfather’s and his father’s before him. The front porch held flawlessly positioned chairs, perfect for an afternoon break filled with lemonade and small talk. From time to time grandfatherly advice would be dispensed beneath the shade tree in the front yard as if time were standing still and we were all that mattered in the world.
I can still gather the feelings of my childhood trips to Granddaddy’s farm. They come from nowhere, on random days, with no rhyme or reason as if to remind me of bygone moments and childhood memories. These are peaceful feelings, when they come, which leave a quiet calm on my heart as they exit my mind. I cannot forget them yet I cannot totally recall them either; an interesting duality, yet nevertheless, the truth. One thing I am certain of; we shared animal crackers on that farm many a time.
Cancer came to Granddaddy when I was five years old. Of all the memories I have of my grandfather, I cannot recall how I learned of his illness. Perhaps one of my parents shared the news with me in a way only a parent is capable of doing. I cannot imagine how they felt nor do I want to try. I surmise the first defining moment in my life took place when I was too young to understand the reality in the word cancer. Maybe that is a blessing. For awhile it seemed as if nothing has changed. I could still see Granddaddy and he would spend time with us as always. The animal crackers still came like clockwork, as did the smiles, with his arrival. But as his cancer progressed, he began to deteriorate.
Some of my final memories of Granddaddy exist with me standing next to his nursing home bedside where he lived his final days. They are dark images with my mother and brother at my side. Or maybe I was at theirs. We would visit after school while my father was at work; he would go back later, most times alone. The cancer which confined Granddaddy to his bed, carved a pain so deep on his face that I find it inconceivable to explain in words. His struggles to roll over became daily endeavors, all the while the farmer inside of him was enclosed in a square room with the sun reaching him only through a narrow window’s pane. He was at the mercy of his illness; mercy which would never come until death kindly carried Granddaddy home. He died on my birthday; I was six years old.
Many years have passed since Granddaddy made his mark on this earth. I can only hope the legacy Granddaddy left me can be passed to future generations as my time on earth becomes apparent and my children look to me for gentleness and leading. Granddaddy was a great teacher, especially for a child my age. His knowledge was not factual but observational and his instruction came in the form of a pickup truck and a country store. His sights were earnest and genuine while his being enveloped the land he loved so much. He helped me see compassion, strength, quiet resilience, and absolute follow through. I can still feel his memories and when they come, I’ve learned to take notice.
My biggest memory of the man I came to call Granddaddy, however, will always be of his animal crackers. Who would have ever thought a simple graham cracker cookie could mean so much to a child. But that was just his nature; simplicity in its rarest form.
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