Papa

In December my grandpa passed away at 91 years old.  He lived a long and fulfilled life.

This weekend my family is together in California celebrating his life and memories.  I'm unable to be there as I am in Taiwan, but am writing a few fun memories of him as my part to help celebrate.

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Papa was a very adaptable grandpa.  He had four grandkids, and was always able to find the points of interest in each of us and, perhaps against his own interests, be and/or act interested in that one thing at that one moment.

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In conjunction with the above statement, it was obvious from very early on that I was a lover of film.  Papa would always be trying to stay on top of the movie scene with me and ask me questions and reviews, especially about whatever Disney movie was currently out.  I was a definite Disney kid.  I had the luxury of spending three weeks of every summer from 1997 - 2002 with him and Nana in Arizona.  He would always, without fail, look forward to taking me to whatever Disney movie was out that summer.  I have memories of him taking me to see Hercules, Mulan, Tarzan, etc...movies of my childhood.  Afterwards, we would always stop and get us some of his beloved Big Macs.

(shh, don't tell Mom).

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One of my earliest and favorite memories of Papa was in 1993 when he took my brother Scott and I to see Jurassic Park at the Northridge Mall.  Afterwards, he couldn't find his keys anywhere.  We eventually discovered that the keys were still in the car...in the ignition...with the car running...aaaand the doors locked.  It had been running the entire time we were in the movie.  

Perhaps his first senior citizen moment?  I dunno.

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Suzy: the dog.

I think I was the only other member of the family that ever appreciated her.  Of course, this was when I was young and before my animosity toward household pets.  But that dog knew there was something special about Papa, because she practically worshipped him.  (Or maybe it was because he always fed her from the dinner table?)...

In that relationship:

Nana did all the work,

but Papa got all the love.

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In fifth grade I had to write a paper on "What America Means To Me."  I asked Papa that question because I wanted to quote him in my paper (he was a respected Veteran after all).

My entire paper ended up being one long Papa quote.

I think it even started off with, "I asked my Grandpa what it means to him, and this is what he said..."

Two pages later: 

End quote.

The end.

A+

Thanks Papa.

My teacher, Mr. Lundquist, loved it so much that he asked for it to be read at the next major school production.  I was currently in a local Ariel production so wasn't able to read it myself, but I know that it was read.

I'm sure that paper is somewhere...

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I remember the anticipation of knowing that Papa and Nana were on a road trip to come visit.  From Arizona it's about a 12 hour drive, and I remember counting down the hours just waaaaiting for their arrival: especially for the "Christmas visit" because their car trunk would always be full of presents.  Bonus: if it was a "birthday visit" then the presents would only be for YOU!

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One summer, while visiting AZ, we heard a loud BANG hit the back patio window/door of their house.  At first we thought it was a golf ball because they lived on a golf course.  But it ended up being a bird.  It was obviously dead on impact.  I found this humorous in my adolescence..."dumb bird"...but I could tell Papa sincerely felt sorry, even compassion, for the little guy.  He took the time to get a dustpan, a broom, and tenderly and properly dispose of it; whereas I would have just left it there and gone along with my day.

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On my 20th birthday, 2005, I was on my mission in AZ.  My grandparents lived only 45 minutes away.  I got permission to have them take my companion and I out to dinner.  They came and picked us up and we went to The Cheesecake Factory.

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One time, visiting home from college, Papa asked me at the dinner table, "So what do you eat there in good ole' Rexburg?"  I was annoyed by this question (as I expressed at the moment), because it's a question I honestly don't know how to answer.  There are 3 meals a day, 365 days a year: what do you want me to say?  Anyway, it ended up being really funny, and a continuously used inside-joke (along with the "Mushrooms" incident provided by my grandma, Neece), especially with my dad, who happens to nearly almost throw that question in somewhere when we talk on the phone.

I tell this story to show that that's the kind of grandpa he was: He wanted to know all the details of your life, because he cared.

It's inside-jokes like that that help keep memories alive.

For proof: "Mushrooms" still pops up from time to time...

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I think the ultimate memory of Papa will be the countless games of dominoes played over the decades.  It was always his "go-to" game.  One Christmas, Papa gave each of us grandkids our own dominoes set.  When I visited them in AZ they would have friends over for dominoes.  When they visited Cali we would always play dominoes.  And the last few years of visiting the rest home, dominoes was a daily ritual from 4 - 5 o'clock (even when he could never again grasp the concept of that blasted penny!).

Whenever I see dominoes from now on, I'll always think of Papa.

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Those are just a few memories from a 27.5 year memory bank.

Thanks for everything Papa!