My Grandfather Still Encourages Me

Even from the grave

Sometimes the universe helps you out, even without asking.

The monsters have come out to play again, leaving me in a purple funk. They spew judgement, entitlement and cruel words wherever they see fit. Many of them serve on Homeowners Association Boards. Some of them write and comment on Medium. Their words can knock you sideways.

Then yesterday, I read a story by Kat Medium that got me thinking about my grandfather and how, even though he passed away 40 years ago, I can still feel him in my life, picking me up, kicking me forward.

My grandfather was my savior during my teen years. He understood me in a way that the other adults in my life didn’t. He had the same bright orange hair that I did until the day he died. We shared the same music and taste in literature. I was his first grandchild.

He listened to my tantrums about wanting to play music other than the classics, and about wanting to read something other than textbooks. He was a chemist, but made jewelry on the side. He rolled his own cigars.

I swear, he read every newspaper in print and knew something about everything. He laughed at my frustrations and could be critical at times, but I knew he always had my back. I thought he was perfect.

His parents raised him with high educational standards and firm hands. He graduated from college at twenty and obtained his master’s degree a year later, mostly because that’s what was expected of him. But, he enjoyed his days at school and told me he wished he could do it all again. Especially the parts involving girls.

He never stopped learning and he never stopped being curious. We talked about what it was really like for him fighting in World War II. I learned about how he accidentally shot himself in the arm, and about the navy friend who taught him how to roll those cigars.

He also taught me how to treat dogs with respect, how to grow potatoes, and how to talk to boys.

Here’s what I know to be the absolute truth. When I went away to college as an 18-year-old freshman, my grandfather was so proud of me that he sent a letter telling me so. I received it within the first few days of moving into the dorms. It was the first time any adult in my life had ever told me anything like this. I still have that letter, and even in this chaotic house, I always know exactly where it is.

I reread it from time to time, when I feel the need. It’s the last few lines that I cherish the most.

Remember to take advantage of where you are. Absorb as much as you can in all subjects. Think critically and question everything. You’d be surprised at how many people never learn to do this.

My grandfather died the summer after my freshman year. I still miss him, but feel him with me every now and then. Like right now, in my current funk, I can feel him laughing at my frustrations again. He knows I’ll be alright.

I can smell cigar smoke.

Miss you, Grandpa.

Below is Kat’s essay that got me started on this, for your reading pleasure.