Today’s post is (much) later than usual. Today is my grandfather’s 80th birthday and I spent it roaming around with family. My family comes from all over the south, Mississippi, Georgia, South Carolina, and Virginia. They are hard working, blue collar, well meaning christian folk who love to fish, watch football, and drink beer.
I sometimes wonder if I was dropped off by aliens. Oh, don’t get me wrong, my family loves me and I love them but I’m pretty sure that if blood wasn’t involved our relationships would have been forgotten a long time ago. Which would have been a terrible thing because I would have surrounded myself by people who talk and think like I do and that’s not the best way to get a well rounded perspective on life.
My Poppa (that’s what we call my grandfather) survived my grandmother by nearly fifteen years. He comes from striking German/Jewish stock and is as gruff as they come. You will know, when he says something to you, that he absolutely means it. the wording may be blunt but he doesn’t like to pretty things up. He is willful, firm in his way, and takes no nonsense from anyone. I love him desperately.
It was wonderful to see him again but, at the same time, a stab. He’s getting older. His always proud stance is becoming hunched, and he can’t stand for very long anymore. It’s surprising to see what time can do to a man who bent to nothing else.
It is important to note that my Poppa is yet another person who formed my desire to write. My Marmee (my grandmother) was an avid reader, and even took her title from her favorite book Little Women, and she was the person who sent me books every birthday and Christmas. But it was my Poppa who told me that if I wanted something in life, with enough hard work, I’d make it happen.
And since the man never told me a lie to make me feel better…I believe him.