I never really had a chance to really know my father’s father since he died when my sisters and I were very young but I never felt as though I grew up lacking the unique love that a Grandfather has for his Grandchildren because I had Grandpa Jimmy.
He was a good man, if sometimes hard to understand, and his presence in our lives affected each of us differently. I won’t presume to speak for anyone else, but for me, I know that my life was blessed to have him in it and I treasure the memories I have of him.
Since Mom told me that he passed away on Thursday night, so many thoughts have been drifting through my mind. It’s been difficult to try and put them down on paper because as soon as one memory surfaces, there are five more hovering, just below the surface demanding my acknowledgment. It’s been difficult sifting through the memories but there are some that are crystal clear and it’s those that I’ve chosen to share with you.
I remember his thirst for knowledge. Before there was Google there was Grandpa. He knew something about every subject and likely had a book to answer any question you might have stashed somewhere in the house.
I remember his James Dean hair. Always coiffed and slicked and for a while, dyed. When I was young, I asked him once if he dyed his hair and he looked at me, horrified that I would even ask such a question. He made it perfectly clear that his raven black hair was completely natural and with a wink, added that the ladies loved it.
I remember when he used to take us shopping how he would shush us if we called him Grandpa, stating that he was much to young and handsome to be a Grandfather. Then we would run into some old acquaintance of his and he would proudly present his granddaughters, completely breaking his own rule.
I remember him helping us start our first penny collection as kids. Handing us the leather bound book with slots for a penny from each year. We used to spend hours dumping out the big brass bucket that held thousands of pennies and meticulously going through them, putting them into their respective slots as he told us which ones were valuable and hard to find.
I remember how we used to sit beside him on the couch and suddenly he would grab our knee and squeeze as we yelled in delight and tried to wiggle out of his iron grasp.
I remember whenever we would say goodbye after a visit we would hug, kiss and I would tell him that I loved him and his response was always “Yep, yep. Love you too” and would give me a pat on the shoulder.
I remember that I always felt secure in the knowledge that he loved me.
I know, without a doubt, even in the difficult times, that he loved each of us in the best way that he knew how.
I love you Grandpa.
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