Lisa
My maternal grandfather passed away in 1977 when Mom was pregnant with Cheryl, so none of us ever got the chance to meet him. I know him through the handful of stories that get recycled whenever we sit down and thumb through family photographs.
My favorite is the one my dad tells of him. When my parents were dating, they made a weekend trip up to my mom’s hometown, Timmins, which is an 8-hour drive north of Toronto. My dad sat up late with Grandpa, drinking beers and talking. Grandpa leaned over to Dad and said, “You know, I think you’re going to be my favorite son-in-law.” Dad remembers getting a little nervous because he and Mom had only been dating a few weeks.
I love how Grandpa just knew.
My second favorite story emerged when we were talking about my little brothers, both of whom were serving missions for our church. Mission rules are strict and missionaries who don’t follow them are sent home. My dad (the non-believer in the group, ironically) fretted, “What will happen if one of them gets sent home?”
“They won’t get sent home,” I replied. “If something goes wrong, they’ll go AWOL. You’ll get a call from your credit card company asking if you were the one who just bought a one-way ticket to Hawaii.”
My parents chuckled, “Yeah, that sounds more like our family.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Grandpa went AWOL. Left the Navy. Just took off one day. He came home, married Grandma and they lived in fear for a couple of years. But they were in a tiny town in northern Ontario and what they figured turned out to be right: No one ever bothered making the trip up north to come after him.”
That night I tried to piece the scene together. When exactly did he leave? One morning before everyone else was awake? During a meal? Did he stand up, wipe his mouth and casually walk away? One of my high school friends always said, “Lisa, you can steal anything with a clipboard and enough confidence.” Maybe Grandpa was holding a clipboard when he left.
I watch White Christmas every year because Grandpa looked and drank like Bing Crosby. Those two hours of crooning are the most alive I can make him. I hum “count your blessings instead of sheep” and get teary thinking that my mom has spent more of her life without her father than with him.
And, whether it snows or not on December 25th, I always find myself dreaming of a white Christmas, of a man with steel blue eyes, of a grandfather I’ve never met.
24 comments
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December 15, 2009 at 1:42 am
Cissy
Wow. What a beautiful combination of nostalgia and tribute. Now I want to go call my grandpa, who always looked like John Wayne to me.
December 15, 2009 at 2:15 am
Kristen
I was 18 months when my maternal grandpa died. I still can see him sitting in his Lazyboy, reading his newspaper with Buddy Holly glasses and a happy twinkle in his eyes.
Beautiful homage once again, Lisa.
December 15, 2009 at 6:09 am
SASmylie
I loooove nostalgia: stories told of my mothers and fathers home and family in Nth Ireland – the people that we look like and that this is past on to the family of today. I too watch and drift when i watch Bing Crosby because my father sang like him and my nephew is the living legacy of what his grandfather looked like and sang like. My sister is just like my great grandmother, I laugh like my mothers sister, my brothers look like my fathers and mothers uncles and so it goes on. Family is not just made up of the here and now but of who past before and who is to come. Eternal relationships.
December 15, 2009 at 8:09 am
rvs
That was a beautiful piece of writing which further inspired me to push to the end of the semester. I love your writing, Lisa, and the combination of family and Christmas have me itching to get home. Merry Christmas, Lisa (and Apron Stage).
December 15, 2009 at 8:51 am
living in zion
I am the unfortunate one of the group. You know the type. They sit silently while others talk of pioneer heritage. While stories of courage, humor and love are shared, they have nothing to contribute. If pressed about their family history they will murmur a stilted comment and there will be momentary silence before someone else jumps in with another remembered story of greatness.
The good news for me and those of my ilk is that our children can have good stories to tell about us. I live my life with an eye toward future generations, wanting my imaginary great grandchildren to be lucky enough to have excellent material for their class paper on their heritage.
I am always inspired by stories like Lisa’s. I want to grow up and be the one my family talks about. I am o.k. with being kooky and avant garde, as long as my love also gets passed along.
December 15, 2009 at 9:12 am
smylies
Beautiful post Lisa. I hate following you. But yes, here’s to family stories. Oh but they have power to stir the soul.
December 15, 2009 at 10:16 am
beckarecka
Thank you. My grandmother just passed away the weekend before Thanksgiving. It is nice to remember the sweet little memories. My favorite lately is from the nursing home where she spent the last few years of her life. Her memory began to fail, and when I visited alone, I could tell she didn’t recognize me. In the context of my mother being with me, I could tell she knew I was my mother’s daughter. It was obvious to me that she didn’t remember me particularly.
We live out of town. One summer my husband was able to come visit with me. My grandmother LOVED my husband. She had recently had another stroke, and was unable to communicate but with her eyes. It was obvious she didn’t remember me, but when my husband stepped into the room grandma lit up like a candle. As the couple of hours we had slipped pleasantly away, I thought irreverently that my grandpa and I should really be jealous of the way those two were flirting!
So thanks again. I’ve been telling myself it’s fine, I’m a grown woman and she was living a strained painful life. It’s been nice to step into dreaming about the memories she left me instead of fighting it off.
December 15, 2009 at 10:47 am
lisapiorczynski
Cissy,
John Wayne! Oh how great. Please do call him. Tell him it’s Apron Stage Grandpa Appreciation Day.
Kristen,
I loved Buddy Holly’s glasses. Love his music even more. Yep, gonna start my day with True Love Ways in honor of your grandpa.
SASmylie,
Amen and amen. I love how the human family weaves together, how everything about our faces are referential, and the reminders that our lives are not really just ours.
rvs,
Thank you. Best of luck with your semester. I will say this: some of my favorite Christmas memories are college Christmas memories. Tender moments amid the frenzy of exams and papers and and. I wish you some of those this week.
living in zion,
I don’t have any pioneer stories either! (I honestly thought that people might say that I shouldn’t have written this post. After all, I admit in it that my grandfather was a deserter and an alcoholic. This is not your typical, “My grandfather helped build the temple” account.)
And though I don’t know your story, let me assure you: we can find ways to honor our family history regardless of what has transpired in it. I don’t have to dig deep to find violence, abuse of all kinds, adultery, etc. There are stories that make my blood boil. Stories that I am ashamed of. Stories that make me wonder if the Atonement really is big enough to give healing to both the sinners and the victims. But the great thing about family history is that we can always go further back and find someone who’s story we want to retell. Also, I believe we can and should adopt people into our histories. Tell stories of “aunts” and “uncles” who’ve become part of us. And, as you’ve pointed out, we must also look forward.
smylies,
“Oh but they have power to stir the soul.” Amen.
December 15, 2009 at 10:53 am
lisapiorczynski
beckarecka,
I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. I love the stories you’ve shared here. My grandmother is also in an assisted care facility and though she often forgets me, she remembers my dad. I love seeing that eye sparkle, like the one you’ve described. beckarecka, write the stories down this Christmas. The faintest ink is better than the clearest memory.
December 15, 2009 at 11:18 am
corktree
Beautiful story, very human – the good with the not-so-good. I struggle with maintaining perspective of my closest ancestors when I can see their hypocrisy, but I think we need to see them as whole people – ones that we can learn from by emulating the good and improving on the rest.
December 15, 2009 at 11:30 am
Annette
What a great post–and a great story.
I also watch that movie every year for nostalgic reasons–Bing reminds me of my dad, who has a similar singing voice. I grew up listening to Bing on reel-to-reel tapes at Christmas. When my parents were gone for 5 years on missions, it was one way to feel close to my dad again.
December 15, 2009 at 2:31 pm
JoLyn
I love ancestor stories! I recently shared one about my grandparents and some German prisoners of war. You can read it here: http://bit.ly/7h5vTt. It was fun to read yours!
December 15, 2009 at 5:02 pm
Kelly
Beautiful. Lisa- I think you’re a kindred spirit.
December 15, 2009 at 5:06 pm
Kelly
Ps- my husband grew upnin Canada. He’s a duel citizen, which means he’s whatever nationality is mos expedient to the conversation… When I married him, my father in law said to me “don’t let him move you up here to Canada. It’s too damn cold.”
pps- it’s snowing here today, and just starting to stick to the ground. Happy White Christmas!
December 15, 2009 at 5:08 pm
Laurel
Between this nostalgic post about my dad (who I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing – especially at Christmas time) and last week’s story about our crazy Cookie Hooky Days, I feel like Christmas is already here because the gifts just keep coming! Thank you Lisa, thank you!
December 15, 2009 at 5:49 pm
`Louise Plummer
A grandfather who looked like Bing Crosby. Can it get any better than that? And you can sit and watch White Christmas and sing along. I love White Christmas. It’s wonderfully hokey.
December 15, 2009 at 5:53 pm
nakiru
This was a beautiful tribute. Thanks for sharing your memories with us.
December 15, 2009 at 8:54 pm
kt
Thanks for the great post. It made me miss my paternal grandfather (who I am named after) who is still a defining force in my family, even almost 10 years after his passing.
(He looked like Henry Fonda. http://verdoux.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/henry-fonda.jpg )
December 16, 2009 at 12:23 am
M
How is it that all of our grandfathers looked like movie stars? My grandfather looked like Ricky Ricardo/Desi Arnaz, only more handsome. He died in March of this year. Beckarecka, I’m sorry to hear about your loss. It’s very difficult, but the hardest time I ever had was being in the nursing home with my grandfather a few months before he died and knowing he wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else. It’s a little better now even though we miss him terribly.
December 16, 2009 at 2:10 am
tiffany
What a beautiful post! And the comments have been lovely and sweet. My maternal grandpa passed away 3 years ago next week. He was a giant, gentle man that I dearly miss every day. I really can’t believe its been 3 years because his absence from my life still feels so fresh. He and my grandma lived in Orem and took care of me and my sisters when we were at BYU. He was the chauffeur to and from airports (regularly at 4 am), the bringer of homemade bread and supplies to homesick and poor granddaughters, the tough, former steelworker who seemed to always have candy in his pockets when we were little and got teary-eyed when his granddaughters were stranded in an airport on their way home from college one year, the “bank” who loaned me money for my last year’s tuition at BYU and then tore up the check I sent to pay him back after getting my first job and many other acts of kindness, service and loving care. Great post on this chilly December night!
December 16, 2009 at 12:40 pm
Kaedi
Lisa, this is beautiful, and brought back so many fun memories of my own grandparents — thank you!
December 17, 2009 at 6:07 pm
Merinda
I’ve been in a family history craze lately, something I thought I’d never touch in my 30′s and I’m amazed at how many delicious stories like these are there for the taking, but destined to be lost if nobody writes them down. I’m glad you did. My husband has a Civil Ward draft dodger in his family with some great stories about how they traveled around, camping and evading the authorities. Great stuff.
December 17, 2009 at 7:16 pm
Erin
I’ve been out of town and not able to keep up with Apron Stage, so this is a little late, but I wanted to thank you for the post, Lisa. As a 24-year old whose dad recently passed away, I have often found myself reflecting on the idea that I will likely live in this world longer without my dad than I have with him. This is hard to imagine since up until this year, my life has been full of him. I wonder what effect the passage of 10, 20, 30 years will have on my memory. Will he seem as vivid as he does now? As sad as it makes me that my future children will not know their Grandpa in this life, your post cheers me up—I am looking forward to the many stories about him that will be a part of their lives and a part of the connection they feel with him.
December 22, 2009 at 11:18 am
lisapiorczynski
Hi all, sorry for taking a week to loop back around and respond.
corktree,
It’s such a delicate balance, isn’t it? Trying to find that happy medium between being real, but not dwelling on the negative.
Annette,
Bing sounded like your dad? Wow! I imagine Christmas caroling would’ve been fantastic at your home!
JoLyn,
I’m with you: There’s nothing I love more than stories of ancestry. Thank you for sharing the link.
Kelly,
Thanks. And I love that your husband has dual. Hopefully I’ll get there one of these days!
Mom,
I love you.
Louise,
Hokey!? The best things happen while you’re dancing is totally realistic! Look at that backdrop! The painted lighthouse!
nakiru,
You’re very welcome!
kt,
I love M’s comment about all grandfathers looking like movie stars. I’m glad it brought back good memories of someone you love.
M,
Amen, amen. I’m also sorry to hear about your loss. Like I said earlier, I highly recommend writing down your memories of him. My writing has made me feel closer to these people I’ve lost.
tiffany,
Your comment made me cry. I miss him for you. What a wonderful man.
Kaedi,
You’re welcome.
Merinda,
Great stuff indeed! Love it. Family history is so wonderful and super addictive. My mother-in-law is a pro. I’m so happy to have Tagg’s stories to explore now, too.
Erin,
I can’t imagine. I’m so sorry for your loss. Know that I do feel a connection to my Grandpa because his daughters have kept telling us stories of him. I once heard someone give a great talk entitled, “If you save a girl, you save a generation”. In it, the speaker talked about how women are often the keepers and the tellers of family history. I imagine that you will be the teller of your father’s history and will help keep him alive for your children.