When I was about three, my paternal grandfather died. I still have some memories of him, random pictures, mostly. I remember one in particular of him smiling while I was sitting in his lap. I've tied these stored snapshots with memories of being happy to be around him.
Sometimes I'll hear older family members tell stories about him. Growing up, these stories would confuse me because they never seemed to match the memories I had. He was a hard man, scarred inside and out by a life of poverty, yet full of pride and an internal strength that could both inspire and frighten.
I have a cousin that is a few weeks younger than me. Our parents practically raised us as twins for much of our childhood. When our grandfather died, no one told us at first. I assume they wanted to settle his affairs and come to terms with things beforehand. Not long after the funeral, the family was at my grandmother's house. My cousin and I had disappeared, and my grandmother went looking for us. She heard us talking in her bedroom and noticed something odd about the conversation. She walked in and asked us who we were talking to. We said that we were talking to Papa. When she asked what he had said, we replied that he told us not to be afraid and that he'd always be with us.
I have no memory of this story. It was told to me by family members when I was a teenager. I've been thinking about it a bit lately. What if he was here now? What if I got to meet him today as he was when he was still alive? Would we even like each other? Judging by some of the stories my family told, he and I certainly wouldn't agree on a number of issues. Would it be possible to look beyond the striking differences and still find the connection a toddler once shared with his grandfather? Or would we be appalled by one another?
I wonder the same things about my relationships today, especially the ones that have soured. I usually walked away hurt and bitter. Occasionally, I manage to salvage a friendship, but, all too often, I carry a grudge for years. I've tried to define it as a learned reaction that can be overcome, but I've had limited success in doing so. This is where my grandfather comes in. No matter how many people may have feared and hated him, there were still two small children that loved him completely. I'm trying now to look past all the tears and disgust and rage and see the ghosts of my past as individuals capable of showing the kindness and love that my grandfather showed me.
Sometimes I'll hear older family members tell stories about him. Growing up, these stories would confuse me because they never seemed to match the memories I had. He was a hard man, scarred inside and out by a life of poverty, yet full of pride and an internal strength that could both inspire and frighten.
I have a cousin that is a few weeks younger than me. Our parents practically raised us as twins for much of our childhood. When our grandfather died, no one told us at first. I assume they wanted to settle his affairs and come to terms with things beforehand. Not long after the funeral, the family was at my grandmother's house. My cousin and I had disappeared, and my grandmother went looking for us. She heard us talking in her bedroom and noticed something odd about the conversation. She walked in and asked us who we were talking to. We said that we were talking to Papa. When she asked what he had said, we replied that he told us not to be afraid and that he'd always be with us.
I have no memory of this story. It was told to me by family members when I was a teenager. I've been thinking about it a bit lately. What if he was here now? What if I got to meet him today as he was when he was still alive? Would we even like each other? Judging by some of the stories my family told, he and I certainly wouldn't agree on a number of issues. Would it be possible to look beyond the striking differences and still find the connection a toddler once shared with his grandfather? Or would we be appalled by one another?
I wonder the same things about my relationships today, especially the ones that have soured. I usually walked away hurt and bitter. Occasionally, I manage to salvage a friendship, but, all too often, I carry a grudge for years. I've tried to define it as a learned reaction that can be overcome, but I've had limited success in doing so. This is where my grandfather comes in. No matter how many people may have feared and hated him, there were still two small children that loved him completely. I'm trying now to look past all the tears and disgust and rage and see the ghosts of my past as individuals capable of showing the kindness and love that my grandfather showed me.