Today my grandpa turns 90.
I have to confess, I'm not sure how to write this thing. I've never eulogized anyone I knew, only casually making references of gratitude (or otherwise) here and there. Of course, it's hard to eulogize someone who's still alive. But I'm going to try.
My grandpa (dad's dad) might have been my favorite grandparent growing up. During my years in Houston (ca. 3 months to just over 2 years of age) I got to see him a lot. Apparently, at the end of each workday when he would return home from work, I would leap into his arms and make him tell me everything about the world that I could see: the individual paintings in the living room of his house, the points of interest in the yard (probably trees and such), and the stop sign down at the corner. I insisted on this every day, and he happily obliged. As far as I'm concerned, he was good with kids.
If this were truly in the spirit of a eulogy, I'd stop there. But the older I got, the more I learned, the more complex my opinion became of the man. When I was a teenager, I learned that he was a hardcore Republican, and during my years flirting with liberalism the differences between him and me scared the shit out of me. I worked hard to make sure he didn't know what I was. I'm willing to bet I succeeded.
Then there are the stories of the type of man my grandpa was as a husband and father. All I'll share about that (because of the confidentiality factor) is that his actions and inactions played a role in shaping my life, the same life I'm working on decompressing and making sense of at the Baldwin Center.
I feel I have a lot of his anger, or at least the same desire to take rage-based action on anyone that angered me. (Then again, anger seems to run in plentiful areas around my family.) I also share some similar frustrations with technology. Mine are more indifferences; his are more outright anger and paranoia. Every time my dad visits him, they spend time together cleaning up his computer and re-learning how to use it.
Some months ago, my dad told me that grandpa wants to talk to me, to catch up. OK, intriguing. Then he told me that he was waiting for me to call and wouldn't take the initiative. OK, suspicious. Interesting how someone who "wants to talk to me" won't pick up the phone and call. After all, I'm sure Dad gave him my cell phone number. Sounds like grandpa doesn't really want to talk to me after all. I was busy back in the spring. Didn't have time or energy to do much besides the bare requirements (work, commute, worship band/choir commitments) and decompressing/sleeping.
This "memory stone" post is different from most of the rest in that it's not about a specific time in my life (this post covers many years' worth of experiences), but about a person. And I'm not sure how exactly my grandpa is a memory stone: he doesn't go to church, is probably an agnostic at best, and my experiences with him are mixed. But I've been thinking that I want to go to Texas at some point soon. I figure I'll skip the phone call and just fly to Houston on his dime (and perhaps also Dallas to see a friend there).
I suppose the fact that I still would want to see him means something. Perhaps, as an adult, spending one-on-one time with him might yield something new in our relationship that previous visits may not have. After all, he's still alive (and kicking). Otherwise, he wouldn't be celebrating his birthday today.
So, happy birthday, grandpa. Maybe I'll see you soon.