I decided to blog about this, not just to honor my grandpa,
but for myself. Since his death I have
been going over and through memories in my head. I will be honest and admit that not all of my
memories of my grandpa are positive. You
see, my grandpa was an alcoholic, likely a product of his time in Korea, aka “The
Forgotten War”, but he was an alcoholic all the same. I, however, feel no need to rehash anything
related to that now. It does not matter
anymore and it does me, nor him, no good to detail that stuff. His drinking never hurt me in any way. I prefer to focus on the good stuff, and
really, there was a lot of good stuff.
From the time I was about five years old (plus a brief
period when I was a baby), I lived in a different state, or really I should say
different states, from my grandparents.
That did not keep me from having a close relationship with them,
however. My Grammy and I always frequently
corresponded by letters and we always made the trek back to Kansas City in the
summertime to visit. My grandparents
often came to visit us, wherever we might be at the time, typically around
Christmastime (especially when we lived in Florida - who wouldn’t take a
Florida Christmas over a Missouri Christmas? lol). My grandpa Joe would tirelessly watch all of
the “shows”, cheers, songs, or other performances I would subject him to on his
visits, and he would always give a thunderous standing ovation at the end. Often he would come for his visit armed with
a song (usually some old twangy country song at which I would giggle or roll my
eyes) he wanted me to sing for him and
he would say, in his boisterous way, that I had “the most beautiful voice on a
little girl” he had ever heard. At some
point, grandpa Joe, my brother Matt, and I would sit in the floor with all of
my brother’s matchbox cars and we would race and 4-wheel over mountainsides
(aka our legs). “Chigabuggachigabuggachigabugga!”
He was also known to play baby dolls or stuffed animals with my sister Cara and/or me, and we always
made time to play catch or wiffleball out in the yard. My grandpa loved sports.
I remember grandpa Joe as always such a giving person. I swear he could hear the ice cream truck
from miles away and he would grab my hand so we could run together to the end
of the drive where he would hook me up with whatever frozen treats (and yes
that is plural) I desired. There was
never a trip to KC that I did not return home loaded with gifts. I specifically remember one trip where I rode
home in the back of our minivan with a gigantic stuffed raccoon dressed as
Robin Hood and an enormous, never-ending bag of animal crackers. Grandpa had a knack for finding stuff like
that. Even as an adult, I would continue
to receive gifts from him during visits and by mail. When I became “of age” and wanted to try my
luck on the slots at the KC casinos (a novelty to me since gambling of any sort
is illegal in SC), grandpa always pushed a fifty into my hand (and into the Hub’s
hand after I was married) once we got through the doors and he wouldn’t take no
for an answer. Of course I blew it every
time (plus a little of my own money) but we always had a blast doing it.
My grandpa was a Shriner and upon his retirement from
Southern Bell after thirty plus years of service (where I hear he never missed
a day of work I might add), he began volunteering in transport, taking children
from area KC hospitals to the Shriner’s hospital in St. Louis. Anyone who knows the traffic and frustration
of St. Louis knows that this is no small feat!
When he could no longer provide transport services, he continued to
volunteer in various capacities with the Shriners. He really loved the work that they did for
the kids.
There is one more thing about grandpa Joe that I would be
remiss if I did not note, even though he would tell me not to make a “big stink”
over it. I mentioned before that he
served our country in the war in Korea.
I just learned, upon his death, that he was a highly decorated
hero. Grandpa would, understandably,
never talk about Korea; not to his wife, his kids, his parents; not to anyone,
but it was known that he was grazed by a bullet on the side of the head,
leaving him perpetually gray in that little spot from a young age. When going through his personal items in a little
lock box/safe that he kept in his man cave, grandpa’s discharge papers were
uncovered. These papers listed several
medals and awards, including the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star. It is unknown at this time as to how, exactly, he received
these awards, but nonetheless, they were his and he was a hero. I will never forget the beauty and nobility
of the military at his funeral. I'm not sure there was a dry eye present.
So, with that, I will close this up and bid him
farewell. He is probably up in heaven
cussing me for going on and on about him this way.
Rest in Peace grandpa. I promise
to try hard not to “sweat the small shit in life” because, after all, “the
cream always rises to the top”.
