I don’t know much about the life of my late grandfather (mum’s dad, to me he was a man of mystery). However, I wanted to write an entry in his honour. I really thought he would live to be 100 since his mum lived almost 115.
I just have memories from when I was younger—I was born in his house.
He had a booming voice, I loved hearing it as a child. I loved how he pronounced my name (my sister’s). He made “lyn” sound so beautiful (“Leen” instead of lyn).
I remember drinking citrus juices that tasted funny, and when I was older, I was told it was because there was rum in it.
Since I lived with my father’s family for awhile, I remembered every time we visited he would give us all a dollar to get corn curls and Shirley biscuits (I still buy these). I always wondered why he didn’t know the cost of these wonderful treats. I would bring back the change and he would allow us to pocket it.
He owned a bar downstairs—it had been there since the 50s (he told me so in 2011 when I finally visited as an adult). I hadn’t seen him for 15 years at that point. He had just made 80.
He told me about his 18 kids and how much he loved all of them. He stressed the importance of having them when I explained my skepticism.
I showed a photo of my new niece to him, who had been born a night prior, he was fascinated by how quickly I had gotten it off WIFI and I was enlightened of our generation gaps.
“How did you do that?” to “When did this happen?”
I laughed because I knew the explanation would mean nothing. I was happy that he was entertained and he got to see his first great grand child from my mum’s side of the family.
The subsequent days passed on my vacation and he chose not to give me a curfew because I was an adult. I was amused of him being up at 4am to work in his garden when I thought waking up at 6am was an accomplishment to me.
My best memory of my trip was reuniting him with another grandchild that I was able to witness: