a sweet little memory

A few weeks ago I took little man to McDonalds.  It’s one of those weekly dates we used to have. On this specific day at McDonalds little man was up playing in the play place while I was people watching.  If there is one thing that I can do really well it’s people watch.  And I could really do it for hours, maybe it’s the social worker in me? Anyways so I was people watching and a family comes to sit down at the table next to me.  It’s a grandpa and his two grandchildren.  One grandchild eighth grade age and the other I’d say about 5.  The grandpa and his eighth grade grandson talk while the 5 year old plays in the play place and I couldn’t help but listen to their conversation. 

They are talking about school.  The boy was starting eighth grade and was really excited to be one of the upper class men.  Grandpa told him about how eighth grade was when he was a kid and then he went on to talk about high school and the different things that he went through.  He told his grandson stories about things that happened in class, what his favorite sport was, and all about the girls.  It’s one of those memories that I hope that boy cherishes.  A chalk-it-up-for-the-books kind of memory, one that you wont ever want to forget or take advantage of.  

As they were talking it got me thinking about how I longed for my grandpa.  I wished he was still here to tell me his stories about school, stories about my dad when he was younger, my favorite stories are the ones about how him and my nana met.  I wish he could have been there for my high school graduation and when I got married.  I miss that man so much.  Being the only granddaughter you are kind of his little treasure. The one where he would do anything to protect you and keep boys away from you.  How I wish I could be 8 again and have sleep overs at his house and take a trip to Dunkin Donuts in the morning.  But mostly I longed for the stories and that one-on-one time that I can never have again on this earth. 

Sometimes it’s when you’ve lost that important thing in your life, that you realize you had something good.  But in your 12 year old mind you don’t really understand.

A few weeks back I was house sitting for my nan.  I walked through the garage and walked into bump’s workshop where he created so many beautiful things.  I couldn’t help but get teary-eyed when I saw his jacket still hanging on the hook, right where he left it.  And the picture of us, all his grand kids, I know we were his pride and joy.  His baseball, the picture of his dog Cove, some things us kids had made him, and then a few of his nick-knack tools that are still hanging around. 

But that flannel jacket.  He wore flannel a whole lot, so much that I didn’t ever think he owned anything else.  and I don’t remember seeing him wear pants, but that could be because the vivid image of him teasing me with his short shorts was so  clear.  They were light blue by the way.  

I’m so grateful for my bumpa and all the love he gave me.  Till we meet again.